Going from penniless and disparaged outcasts of an almost entirely female family (at least the non-book room portions) to what amounted to six sisters and two brothers ensconced in one of the principle estates in England practically an inch from the peerage, happened with breathtaking speed, like some kind of fairytale, and I must confess two things.

The first is that I have not the slightest idea how it happened. It was still less than two months since we left Longbourn under a black cloud, and now we had a routine that made it seem as if we were born and bred in Rosings. Fitzwilliam Darcy, my mostly brother now, well known as a fastidious man, had dispensed with proper forms of address altogether within less than two days of meeting us again. Lizzy understandably disdained the name 'Collins' and he was astute enough to pick up on it, so she was to be Elizabeth. You cannot mix 'Elizabeth' and 'Miss Bennet' in the same sentence without sounding silly, plus Jane had some kind of intense discussion with him on the first day, probably about Bingley, and wham‑o, now we have Elizabeth, Jane and Miss B… You can see how awkward that gets, plus I believe Fitzwilliam mentioned a conversation he overheard with our father which made him not very enamored with the name 'Bennet', so within a day we were all on a given name basis. By two days, we were the same way with Georgiana and Anne. Not one to be outdone, Aunt Catherine rounded out the informality to the point where we may as well all be farmers or tradesmen… or more likely family. Fitzwilliam would pull Lizzy back to health if he had to go to Inferno and make a deal with the devil, and nothing he did would surprise me now.

The second thought is that I would quite happily give it all up, return to the dubious company of my father, sit in my mother's parlor and listen to her lamentations day and night, practically camp with Mrs. Phillips and Lady Lucas and listen to gossip all day every day, un‑learn all the beneficial lessons of the past year, and go back to insipidly following Lydia around; just to get Lizzy back.

Aunt Catherine picked the best room in the family wing for Lizzy. Actually, as it happened Anne had the best room and had her maids move her while her mother was away bludgeoning Fitzwilliam into submission. Anne then prepared to dig in her heels no matter how much her mother argued, but Aunt, just looked at the change, smiled and said, "Good."

Everyone in Rosings was on given name basis, just because Lizzy allowed it for Fitzwilliam, and we all followed suit like a bunch of little ducklings... or maybe sheep; ducklings are Lydia's analogy.

Our other new cousin-brother-friend-confidant apparently decided we were not matrimonial prospects within minutes; probably while he was lifting a spitting mad Lydia off the floor trying to keep her from killing Mr. Collins. I have no idea how that happened so fast, but maybe it had something to do with wanting to insure he was never on the receiving end, but there was more to it. He never had a sister, and seemed to attach himself to us like a piglet, and all were satisfied with the arrangement.

We had all become quite close, so when Richard came in with an actual thundercloud following his head, we all knew something serious had happened between his last letter and now. Looking more carefully, it seemed like it was recent… very recent, as within the hour.

He practically ran by me, saying, "We have an emergency. Please gather your sisters…", he paused a moment in thought, and said, "… perhaps only the Bennet sisters at the moment, and Fitzwilliam in the parlor. I will be right back."

With that, he ran up the stairs two at a time… well, that part is just me having some diversion. What I mean to say is he only forgot about his bad leg and fell back down cussing like a sailor once, and then hobbled up as quickly as he could.

He was back in less than fifteen minutes, dressed in his gentleman's clothing, although looking like he had a blind and crippled valet. He was carrying his regimentals in his arms. His agitation was so severe brother Darcy was ready to accost him over it; but then Richard stopped a footman and gave him the strangest instructions.

"My good man, if you would be so kind as to burn this uniform… now! Also, if you would not mind, instruct the rest of the staff to burn any other uniforms that happen to appear in my luggage."

All right, that was strange.

He saw we were all sitting down, and sat down to join us… and by that, I mean he alternated between sitting and staring at us as he talked, getting up and pacing agitatedly in a fine imitation of our other brother, nearly falling over with his bad leg, and sitting back down to repeat the process.

The story he told was of an unusual encounter with a lady in the middle of Hunsford. The lady was apparently accompanied by only a girl of around fourteen years, and as best we could make sense of his rambling story, she was an angel sent from the very heavens, who thoroughly despised him within minutes, or possibly on sight. It got to the point of where she had a list of things he had done wrong in less than a half hour almost long enough to require quill and parchment to keep track of it.

Brother Darcy, who was usually a bit taciturn, and also had a reputation for sticking his foot in his mouth said, "Richard, you astound me. It took me nearly six weeks for Elizabeth to accumulate ten things she hated about me. It sounds like you did it in six minutes."

My other brother was not amused. However, I suspected Fitzwilliam had endured endless teasing in his life, and from the looks of Richard, this might be his last opportunity; as it was obvious he was besotted with this 'angel'. He was beginning to sound like Mr. Bingley.

Naturally, Jane stood up from her chair to go and scold him as he no doubt deserved over his manners, but I took ahold of her shoulder and squeezed it until she looked at me, then I just looked back at her chair until she went back. I was going to have to talk to her about that fiery temper one day.

I just went over to Richard, and gave him a big sisterly hug, and told him that it would all work out in the end. That's what you have sisters for, to smooth your way through life, to ease your burdens with the gentler sex, to calm you down enough to think. Mary naturally came over and rapped him in the forehead three or four times with her knuckles, and said, "Lunkhead."

Now that we had dispensed with hugs and sticks, and he did seem a bit calmer, Mary put on her thinking cap and started asking questions, just as I expected.

"Richard, you say she disliked you almost immediately, yet unless I am very much mistaken, you seem to have taken a shine to her."

He looked thunderous and said, "Do not speak of her in such a flippant manner. I am in love for the first time in my life, and I intend for it to be the last."

We all gasped at the audacity of that, but Darcy said, "Good man!"

I looked at him and said, "How so, Fitzwilliam?"

He said, "Had I done that at the first assembly back in Meryton, things would have turned out very differently. Even had I come to my senses at any time in the first six weeks, things would be better. Richard knows all he needs to know. If this lady will have him, I will approve in advance. Anyone capable of delivering a setdown like Elizabeth is all right by me."

That statement naturally got Mary thinking again, and she said, "What do you mean a setdown like Elizabeth?"

Darcy chuckled, and said, "Richard, please repeat that setdown word for word. I know it's burned into your memory complete with every nuance and inflection, is it not?"

He said, "How do you know that?"

Darcy just said, "Take my word for it. Now quit woolgathering."

So, Richard told us word for word, and true to Fitzwilliam's surmise, he did a pitch perfect impression, and it did sound an awful lot like Lizzy.

Mary, smart girl that she was, finally asked the painfully obvious question.

"Richard, did you ever in this entire debacle actually get her name?"

We were all smacking our forehead in consternation at our lack of basic investigation techniques, and then gasped in surprise when he answered.

"Miss Charlotte Lucas and her ward is Miss Betsy Clymer."

Mary said, "Nooooo!", while the rest of us just stared at him.

I was so agitated I could hardly get a word in, but finally said, "She is from Meryton and is very well known to us."

Mary was still sitting next to him, and she reached up to rap him on the head again, but decided to give him a hug instead.

She said, "Charlotte is our best friend in the world, and she has wanted marriage and a family forever. She is usually considered 'on the shelf', a dreadful term if there ever was one. She once told me felicity in marriage was entirely a matter of chance, and it was best to know as little of your suitor as possible. Something dreadful must have happened if she is on her way to Scotland, and she will not visit Rosings, or even consider an obviously besotted son of an Earl. If you told her your name, she would know exactly who you are. What are you leaving out, Richard?"

He said, "Did I mention that she is a few months with child, and has no husband?"

He may as well have thrown a basket of ants into the room, as pandemonium ensued, with everyone talking, and exclaiming, and hypothesizing over the top of each other all at once.

We were silenced by a surprising voice.

"Richard, why is this poor girl not sitting in my parlor as we speak?"

We all looked up at Aunt Catherine, who had glided into the room unnoticed, and we were all happy for her presence. She was certainly not an intrusion, and she calmed the proceedings immediately.

"She will not come. She expects the usual reaction for a woman in your position Aunt, and she has a strong aversion to my presence. She plans to leave on the morrow for Scotland."

Aunt surprisingly said, "She most certainly will not! What is her demeanor, aside from intelligent enough to avoid you? Think boy!"

Not in the least perturbed by being chastised, he said, "She is jumpy… very very jumpy, at least in my presence… and she…"

He stopped talking abruptly, trying to recall the scene exactly which I thought might be helpful as in his agitation I was nearly certain he had only told half the story, mostly out of order and scrambled.

Finally, he said, "She is strong. Not just physically, but in spirit, but it has been damaged. She practically shuddered every time she glanced at me, which she mostly avoided."

Mary said, "So, the missing natural father is a soldier!"

Richard's head snapped back around to stare at her, but she was thinking furiously. We all gave her a moment to get to it, and she finally said, "Yes, that explains part of it but not all."

I asked, "How so, Mary?" Sometimes she needed a little prompting.

Mary said, "Richard, how much time did you spend at Pemberley growing up?"

This seemed an odd question, but he answered, "A lot. Darcy and I were nearly inseparable."

Mary glanced at the rest of us, and then stared at him, before asking, "You and our other brother have certain mannerisms you share, part of being raised together, do you not agree sisters?"

All of us nodded in agreement. We had not noticed it, but it was so.

Mary said, "Who else might carry a reasonable packet of those same mannerisms? Someone else who spent considerable time in your company?"

It hit us all about the same time, but it was Brother Darcy who spit out the name.

"Wickham"

Now we were all agitation again, but Lydia then spoke up unexpectedly.

"Richard! Aunt! We never told you of my shame, but Darcy knows. When I was fifteen, I tried to elope with that scoundrel, and Charlotte is one of the very few people my father could not keep the truth from. He left Meryton with a mountain of debt, nearly ruining several shopkeepers. He may or may not be the man who accosted her, but she certainly has sufficient reason to revile him even without that."

Then she turned her attention on Richard and said, "Is it possible that you standing in a red uniform with your Derbyshire speech, and your Derbyshire manners would remind someone quite painfully of a man best killed or forgotten?"

Richard got to add bruised knuckles to his list of injuries, since he smacked the wall with his fist in agitation, saying only, "He is a dead man", which I took as confirmation of Mary's thesis.

I was all business after that. Mary was the brains of our little duo, but I knew what had to be done.

"Jane, I know she asked for you; but you can see that it would be senseless to send the two most mercurially tempered Bennets, including one with alarmingly obvious connections to that scoundrel. It must be Mary and I. Do not fret. We will deliver our friend here, in good working order before supper. If she turns out to be just too stubborn and implacable, we will place her with Mrs. Hewes and the Sergeant and stay with for a few days."

Jane looked ready to argue, until Fitzwilliam said, "I agree! Aunt, would you care to go with us to extend the welcome. You and I will stay in the coach or the inn while Kitty and Mary calm Miss Lucas down. We all agree she belongs here!"

Aunt Catherine just nodded, and we all wondered about her change in demeanor from what had been widely reported; but fortunately, none of us really cared what she was like the previous month.

Fitzwilliam stared at Richard, and said, "Before we do this, I must ask. What are your intentions Richard?" He said it with dead seriousness, as if he already considered Charlotte under his protection, which was most likely true. He seemed to be collecting wards at an alarming rate.

Richard did not blink, "Marriage, family. Even if Wickham is the natural father, that child shall be mine, if she will have me."

Darcy said, "If she accepts you, it shall be her choice. She will be forced into nothing, neither by encouragement nor prosperity or circumstances. You will woo her properly, and walk away if it does not work. Are we agreed?"

For a man who had made such a hash of his own courtship he was remarkably implacable, but Richard agreed immediately.

Not quite finished, Fitzwilliam said, "Make yourself scarce when she comes back. You may start your campaign tomorrow, but not tonight."

Richard saw the sense in that and agreed immediately.

Within five minutes, Fitzwilliam was helping Aunt, Mary and I into our wraps; a habit he picked up in the parsonage he seemed reluctant to let go. I imagine it reminded him of those brief days when Lizzy did not hate him, and I think it might possibly help rekindle some hope in his breast.

For myself, I could not wait to get to Charlotte. This was something I was born to do.