My brother was back! He was finally back, although it was a good two hours after I saw him before I managed to piece together the reason, and even then I had no idea how it could possibly work out well in the end – but I cared not. My brother was back!

I am perfectly well aware that I might be considered a young, silly, ignorant girl with only seventeen summers: and that any one or at most two of those characteristics might make me seem unworthy of attention; but I am not stupid, despite ample evidence to the contrary. I may not be as voluble or witty as some, nor as observant and insightful as others; but I can see what happens around me if it goes on long enough. Though I may learn life's lessons slowly, I do learn eventually.

The lesson about my brother took at least a decade. Granted, at eight years of age when it more or less began, I was not the most acute observer of life around me; but over time I gradually put the pieces together. Between what I could see, what other people told me, and frankly the results of more than a little bit of eavesdropping (I could put a church mouse to shame when I wanted to), I had learned quite a number of things. I did not restrict my forays to my brother and his cousin, but things were learned from servants, housekeepers and even my brother's valet. Mrs. Reynolds was especially helpful in her less guarded moments, and she had known my brother since he was four years old.

To truly understand the magnitude of the change in my brother, you must know how he arrived at this point of giddy excitement I am currently beating to death. As far as I could determine, he had been dying inside a little bit at a time almost since my birth. He was like a water barrel in a farmstead with a very slow leak. The staves would warp a bit as the water leaked out, it would go down to a certain level, and then the rain would come along to fill it back up. Every time the rain came, the barrel was refilled but the staves warped just a bit more, and the leak became just a touch more pronounced, so that it was never properly filled. Each storm brought life and death at the same time, with the barrel gradually losing its battle with the elements. That was my brother, day by day, dying a little bit at a time, the light gradually leaving his eyes. That may seem an odd analogy for a lady of my station, but at heart the Darcys were gentleman farmers, and I flattered myself it was in my blood.

I imagine the leak began in earnest when my father died. I was young, and it would take me a long time to work out the essence of my father. My brother would probably disagree with my assessment, and be angry on top of that; but I shall not be moved in my opinion. My father was a coward. He was an irresponsible coward! His wife had a baby, she died, and he just gave up on his life and his family. He never paid the slightest attention to me, and he barely took care of his son's education. Like I said, a coward! So his wife died! That was no excuse! He was the master of a great estate, born to wealth and privilege and responsibility. He knew where babies came from. He should have just acted like a man and taken care of his family, but he did not. I do not really repine his loss, since he was never anything except a vague concept to me, but I will never forgive him for abandoning my brother. When my father finally gave up on life, the entire burden fell on Fitzwilliam, and that is when the leaks began in earnest. I know Fitzwilliam loved his father and misses him terribly, but I do not.

The summer of the year eleven, I nearly killed Fitzwilliam myself with an ill-conceived courtship with a scoundrel in Ramsgate. Granted, I was an even more ignorant girl then, and granted Fitzwilliam really should have warned me about Wickham; but I was my responsibility and I failed spectacularly. Worse yet, no matter how much I raved and cajoled and pleaded, Fitzwilliam would not relent. He would not chastise me as I deserved. Censure was simply something he was incapable of. He took all the blame upon his own shoulders for failing me; and proceeded with his self‑appointed task of killing himself. I really would have preferred it if he beat me senseless or restricted my privileges or took away my dowry or something. That would have been rational, that might have been effective, and we might have then moved past it, but Fitzwilliam simply kept it all bottled up inside and allowed me no room to just be wrong.

I had no idea what happened a few months later in the winter of that year in Hertfordshire, but he came back from that with a decidedly bigger leak. Aside from the fact that he mentioned a lady named Elizabeth in a few letters, apparently one of five sisters with a typical matchmaking mother; nothing out of the ordinary seemed to have happened; but he came back altered… very altered. I think he actually enjoyed all the fires and flooding and other mayhem of the year twelve, because at least that was something he knew how to deal with; but I was quite despairing of ever having a brother that was whole and complete.

All of that changed on Thursday, the third of December about a half-hour after luncheon, when an express rider arrived at our townhouse with a note.

12 December, 1812
Rosings, Kent

Georgiana,

I cannot explain at the moment, but I
require your presence at Rosings tomorrow,
at precisely five o'clock. Bring your cousin
Fitzwilliam and try to keep him sober as well.
Bring a good but not overly ostentatious dress.
I recommend the yellow silk with the blue ribbon,
and prepare for a dinner that will be pleasant
and entertaining. We will be dining at the
parsonage in Hunsford Village. The timing
is important. Five o'clock if you please.

Have no fear. You will enjoy this very much.

Fitzwilliam

As you can see, this was clear and unambiguous evidence that my brother had gone insane. However, after the slow slide into the grave he had been engaged in, I thought insanity an improvement. I could visit him regularly in Bedlam, and all would be well.

This note was clearly written in a hurry. His usual fastidious, even, elegant hand was replaced with something that looked more like a missive from his friend Bingley, who had also been conspicuously absent that previous year. The missive gave exact and specific instructions that had so many things wrong I hardly knew where to begin. Going to Rosings was bad enough; an exact time was unheard of; notice of a single day nearly impossible; but supper at the parsonage in my favorite dress! How did he even notice which dresses I owned, or know which was my favorite? How did he even know where the parsonage was? Not only that, but I was to round up my cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam and bring him with me, as if I did not have enough troubles already.

One glance at my brother's countenance when we arrived at the exact appointed hour (which required a certain amount of waiting at Bromley while my cousin the colonel eyeballed his watch and consumed brandy at my brother's expense), told me something momentous had changed. It was if some mysterious cooper in the sky had taken his leaky barrel and tarred it over, replaced the staves with new ones freshly cut from the tree of life, repaired all the leaks, and redirected a river to insure the water was clean and cool all year long. He actually smiled… and smirked. My brother! Fitzwilliam Darcy! I had no idea what was causing the change, but whatever it was, I was in favor. My cousin the colonel as usual just went along as if my brother went insane every week.

He went into the parlor at Rosings, and engaged in even more uncharacteristically odd behavior, which apparently included complimenting my cousin Anne about her appearance, apologizing to my Aunt Catherine for neglecting her for a week, and casually mentioning with some kind of smirk that did not tell anyone of our visit as a surprise.

Cousin Anne seemed as confused by the whole affair as I was, but she rallied quickly; and I tried my best to not be overly jealous, as my brother was right; she looked lovely in a pale pink dress with long sleeves. I made an impressive job of getting ready in my favorite dress; as specifically instructed by my deranged brother; and the next thing I knew I was in a parlor crowded with Bennets and servants and apparently a Sargent to go along with my Colonel; talking to Miss Mary Bennet about Mozart.

Miss Mary was a delight, and it was all I could do to not overwhelm her with questions. Imagine! Five Sisters! Mrs. Collins must be the mysterious Elizabeth from last winter. After a few minutes of pleasant discussion of music, I could not stand it anymore; particularly since my brother who was known for not letting me out of my sight seemed to have handed me over to the Bennet sisters, never to be thought of again.

"Miss Mary, please do not consider this overly familiar or forward… even though it actually is… but do you have any idea of why my brother is behaving so… peculiar… not that I am complaining mind you; I am most pleased with the change; but I find it… confusing."

Miss Mary looked at me carefully, perhaps wondering how much of a stickler I was. I wondered if she had already heard of me, and if so, what she had heard. I could sense her nervousness, so I moved quickly to remove any apprehensions.

"Please do not stand on ceremony or feel I will be offended, Miss Mary. I am quite satisfied with the change, but… puzzled."

She nodded and said, "We all are! He is behaving most… most…"

I could see her struggling for words, so thought perhaps to assist.

"Irregular? Atypical? Odd? Strange? Abnormal? Unusual?"

She gave a bit of a smile at my impertinence, and apparently decided to pay it back in kind, "Even worse! He is acting polite and friendly!"

I could see her trying to bite back the words as soon as they were said, but I was having none of that.

"Do not distress yourself, Miss Mary. You may be the first person to tell me anything true in years. May I assume he was neither of those in Hertfordshire last year?"

She grimaced at the mention of Hertfordshire, and said, "He was not… I mean…"

She paused as if searching for words, but apparently could not come up with any and said, "He was not well liked, but we do not like to talk about that time. His was not the only offense."

She had gone from happy and impertinent to nervous and edgy in a moment, and it had to be my brother at fault, but I was not quite ready to give up. I may have neglected to mention in the beginning that I have the same stubbornness and lack of good sense my brother enjoys.

"Please, Miss Mary. Do not be distressed. I know how he can be. So would it be fair to assume he was not liked?"

Now she looked like she had somehow walked into a trap, and I hurriedly reassured her, "I apologize, Miss Mary! That was impolite."

She looked me up and down as if appraising me. Something told me her year twelve had not been any better than my year eleven, and she was not the only sister carrying a burden. I could not tell quite what she was about, but tried to salvage myself.

"Please Miss Mary, I feel like I have poisoned our acquaintance before it properly began. May we start anew?"

She again paused, and finally grinned and said, "I do not advise that. We would just have to go through that awkward phase again, and once was quite enough. Let us just carry forward."

I readily nodded my agreement, and she looked around; most pointedly at my brother and at Mrs. Collins. She thought for a moment and said, "Your brother was not liked. He was arrogant and rude. He insulted my sister Lizzy... Mrs. Collins now, although she does not like to be called that… before he even met her. She could barely stand the sight of him at the end."

Then she gasped as if her tongue had run away with her, and I very forwardly grasped her hand to let her know I was not offended. She paused nervously, and then squeezed back.

She continued almost in a whisper, as if afraid of being overheard, "Something has changed, Miss Darcy. I cannot convey the entire story of our family, but suffice it to say it has been a difficult year; but something has changed. None of my sisters understand it. We only just arrived before luncheon yesterday, and your brother has been in constant company since then. He seems to have developed a… peculiar… sort of friendship with my sister Lizzy, and she… well, let us just say she seems a bit… confused. Something has happened between them; and then again, something with my eldest sister Jane, but I do not understand it."

By then Miss Mary had turned red, and looked like she wished she could keep her own council. I did not blame her for that, as our conversation had been incredibly forward on both sides. I thought perhaps it might be wise to save more conversation until the morrow.

Right then, I started to see the peculiarities of the friendship, if that was what it was, that she referred to. Mrs. Collins instructed my brother to escort the ladies in to the dining room without a single word, nor even seeming to pay him any particular attention. A glance at him and another at the door seemed all that was required.

I could not really see any more, as Mrs. Collins then took her eldest and youngest sisters through a doorway and down some stairs, presumably to a kitchen. They all returned a few minutes later with trays of food.

I sat down to table between Miss Mary and my cousin Anne, and shared Anne's astonishment when my brother poured for Aunt Catherine. I also noticed that the peculiar behavior did not raise a single eyebrow among the Bennets, as if he did this every day.

So it seemed my brother did not even know about the sisters when he sent the express; just Mrs. Collins. Why he was having a peculiar relationship with a married woman… come to think of it, where was her husband... was quite beyond me; but I intended to find out. Of course, my cousin Anne seemed as if she was determined to do the same.

It was promising to be the most interesting evening of my life, if I managed to survive the shock.