"Witting told me what my mother did," said Anne upon Darcy's entering her room. She was sitting up in bed. Mrs. Jenkinson sat at her side, a book laid on her lap.

"I am glad. I am afraid that I was so desperate to be gone that I did not concern myself much with Lady Catherine, beyond having her returned to her rooms and placed under guard." Darcy looked chagrined. He had not even thought that he ought to have told Anne before marching off to the parsonage.

"Oh, I have done with her," said Anne. "Hiding the letters was one thing, but to burn them, well… I have decided that she is unfit to be in anyone's society. She will go to a hospital for the elderly who are no longer sensible."

Darcy was uncertain of what to think. He knew that Lady Catherine was not well, but he had seen the state of such places. They were not the sort of place that he would send his worst enemy, which at this point he might consider Lady Catherine to be, less one.

"Do not look at me like that," said Anne. "I will not sent her off to Bedlam, as much as she deserves it after having done this to you. It is a genteel hospital. Lord Bramstoke's sister is there."

Darcy cringed. Lord Bramstoke's sister had tried to murder both of her siblings the previous year, believing that they were trying to poison her. They, of course, were not. He supposed that if the hospital could handle Lady Violet Oakgrove, then they would be able to care for Lady Catherine.

"Is she already gone? Have you spoken with her?" asked Darcy.

"I have. She would say nothing except that she did it for your own good." Anne adjusted the pillow behind her back slightly. "She is still here. The servants are packing her things. She is confined to her sitting room for now, so she cannot disturb them at their work."

"I wish to see her."

Anne raised an inquiring eyebrow. "Why?"

"I want to know what she thought she was protecting me from. I might be able to get out of her what was contained in the letters."

"I doubt it, but you are welcome to try. I advise that you not go alone. Take Richard with you, perhaps."

Darcy agreed. He could not vouch for his own temper when he saw her. He was well practiced in controlling his emotions, but his mask was likely to slip with such provocation. He has nearly lost his temper earlier that day. If Lady Catherine had not left his room immediately, he might have struck her. He did not like that thought, for although he might not be able to vouch for his temper, he had not struck anyone except Wickham since he was fourteen. Well, unless one counted boxing, which he did not.

Richard, however, upon being sent for, was found to be occupied and unable to go with Darcy to see Lady Catherine. That would have to be done later in the day, once he had finished with his task. Thus, conversation continued between Darcy and Anne, with him inquiring how she fared and if she was in much pain.

"I will be well enough. This is not the first time this has happened."

Anne's words shocked Darcy. "Dear cousin! Why did you not tell anyone? Why did you dare carry a vase when you knew you might swoon at any moment?"

"It does not happen so often as that. This is the fifth time. The first was just after I stopped taking the tonics, many months ago."

"Are you quite certain that you should not resume the tonics?" asked Darcy. "This is quite serious, Anne."

"The tonics made me feel wretched," said Anne. "They might keep me alive longer, but it was no sort of life that I wished to lead. Besides, Mr. Ross believes that the tonics would only keep me alive mere months longer than if I do not take them."

"But if you cannot go about without swooning," said Darcy, "is that much of an improvement?"

"My thoughts are clear," said Anne. "They never were with the tonic. I will not go about unable to think or enjoy myself. You shall not change my mind, cousin."

Darcy did not argue further and instead told Anne of his call at the parsonage. She teased him about Miss Bennet, which he knew that she would. She then related what had occurred during the Collins's call on her. Mr. Collins had been truly dismayed and had apologised as if he had caused her to fall. Mrs. Collins had been much more sensible, of course, and offered what practical assistance she could.

After a half-hour more, Darcy decided to return to his letters and let Anne rest. She declared she did not need rest, but would not keep him.

Upon returning to his room and asking for Witting to bring his letters, Darcy was surprised to find not only his letters from his mother, but one from his sister and one from Mr. Bingley. He decided that he ought to attend to the correspondence from the living first.

28th March,

Brawnstead, near Melbridge, Derbyshire

Dear Brother,

I am shaken to my core by the letters I received from Mother. I thank you for sending them express to me and your letter to me was pure kindness. I am glad to have a brother such as you. Neither me nor Aunt Melbridge can puzzle out how the letters were lost for so long! It is lovely to have them now, but how I wish that I had Mother's advice before this past summer. I, of course, was too young to know Mother, but I am glad for this gift she left me.

The letters begin on my fifth birthday and continue until I am five-and-twenty. There are also several others for other occasions. I am sure yours are similar. Forgive me, Brother, but I could not wait until I fell ill or became sad to read the letters for the other occasions (excepting, of course, engagement and marriage). I did show some forbearance and have only read through the birthdays I have already passed. It was terribly tempting to read the one for my seventeenth birthday, but I have had Rose hide the other letters away somewhere so I will not know where they are and therefore cannot be tempted.

I feel much better about my foolish behaviour this past summer after Mother's advice. Not that my misbehaviour is excused, but I now believe what you and Aunt Melbridge have been telling me. I was a foolish young girl. I was led astray by others well older than I. I ought to have known better, but it was not wholly my fault. I am quite certain that I shall not make the same mistakes in the future.

I look forward to seeing you soon, my dear Brother. I miss you dreadfully. Is Miss Elizabeth Bennet still staying at the parsonage? Richard wrote to me of her. Tell me of her, please. You wrote so much of her in the autumn that I feel like I know her. Might, if ever there is a chance for such a thing, you introduce me to her? I would like it very much.

I am coming to the end of the paper, so I must say only that I remain,

Your loving sister,

Georgiana

Darcy smiled. He was glad that Georgiana now saw reason when it came to Mr. Wickham. When last he had seen her, she swung wildly between still believing herself in love with him and believing herself ruined forever and a terrible person. If his mother's letter to Georgiana about mistakes was similar to his own, then he could understand how it would make her feel better.

He carefully tucked away Georgiana's letter in the drawer of the desk. He would respond to it later that day. First, he wished to see what Mr. Bingley had to say.

14 Elings Road, Mayfair, London,

28th March,

Dear Darcy.

I was glad for your letter bearing news of (something smudged) and correcting your error. I called on Miss Bennet at her uncle's house (something) went for a walk (something) discussed returning to Netherfield. She is to remain in town until (something) returns from Kent, which by the by, you did not mention at all. How is Miss Elizabeth Bennet? (Something) in the parsonage and at Rosing's?

(Something) Miss Bennet (something) at a ball (something) Lady Kelly was there as well and wished to be remembered to you. (Something) courtship. I am, of course, overjoyed. I cannot do justice to my feelings in writing (something).

Yours, etc.,

Charles Bingley.

Darcy squinted at the parts of the letter that he could not make out, trying to discern if the information conveyed in those words was important. He did not think it was, but he would confirm his assumptions when next he spoke to Bingley in person. One could not trust Bingley's letters for much other than proof that the gentleman continued to live. If his assumptions were correct, he was very glad to have written to his friend, for he felt sorry to have denied him such happiness for so long. He put the letter near his sister's and turned to the stack of letters from his mother. He selected the next undamaged one, meant for his twenty-third birthday.

Dearest Fitzwilliam,

Happy birthday, my dear son. I hope you have heeded my advice and stayed off of the marriage mart so far. I do not wish for you to marry too young and you must choose your bride very prudently. You must not forget what you owe to yourself and your descendants. A silly wife or a spendthrift one could prove disastrous. Now that you are a little older, you should have more wisdom to judge what sort of woman you wish for. As you might marry in the near future, I decided that I ought to tell you a little bit of what I know about being married. It might not be the same for you, but I hope you will listen, nonetheless.

First, no marriage shall be happy if you do not spend time together. I know it is not fashionable to appear "hen-pecked" but if you look at those gentlemen who are mocked as such, they look happy with their lot, do they not? I am not saying to let your wife rule you, but often what is considered hen-pecked is really just a gentleman considerate of his wife's feelings, who enjoys spending time in her company, and who does not care if others know he loves his wife. Meanwhile, those who mock the hen-pecked man live at different houses from their wife or only see her at the breakfast table or for a few minutes each evening.

Second, although considered the head of the household, it is not loving to make major decisions without concern for your wife. I have often heard wives complain "And he just walks in and announces that we are removing from town to the estate, without so much as an explanation!" or some such. Your wife is not a child that you can just order about. Legally, perhaps you might, but it is unkind. I hope you are not the sort of man who would consider doing so, but I still wished to warn against it. You should, when possible, consult her before making the decision and make it together. If you must make a major decision without her, you should explain your reasons to her and consider her to be a rational creature who can understand what you tell her. I write this to you now because it also applies to courtship and engagement. Of course, the amount of consideration given to the opinions of one whom you are courting must be less than that given to a wife. Yet, your choices, if you do eventually marry the lady you court, will impact her future.

Third, throughout courtship, engagement, and marriage, I hope you will treat any woman as you would wish for your female relations to be treated. If you would be angry with your sister's suitor, betrothed, or husband for acting in such a way, you should not act that way either.

I know you shall be a good and honourable man, though, so perhaps all of this is unnecessary to tell you. You are your father's son, after all, and a more honourable man I never met.

I love you, my dear son,

Mamma

Darcy considered his mother's words, trying to discern from them any hint of what might have been included in previous letters. Yet, he could not find anything of the sort, which saddened him. He felt incredibly foolish for not reading the letters with more rapidity. He sighed and put the letter from his mother into the box with the others and handed it over to his valet. Then he set about replying to his friend and his sister.