It all felt like some sort of horrible dream. As he stirred in the morning, Darcy did not think of the previous day's terrible events. He went to the washstand and started his morning ablutions, washing his face and hands before summoning Mr Witting to assist him with shaving. He did not remember all that had happened until Mr. Witting brought him his clothing for the day. His usual ensemble was mostly retained, but the mourning traditions required him to wear a black armband and black cravat.

Mr Witting inquired as to the amount of time Darcy would desire to remain in mourning attire and if he should request additional mourning clothes to be sent from Pemberley or ordered from town.

"I shall not remain in deep mourning for long," said Mr. Darcy. "Three weeks will be plenty, followed by three weeks more of just the armband."

Mr. Witting thanked his employer for this information, completed his duties, and asked if Mr. Darcy had any other wishes.

"The letters from my mother," said Darcy.

He was in a better frame of mind that morning and felt capable of reading the last two letters that were late in their deliverance. Mr. Witting brought them along with tea. The latter had not been asked for, but his valet knew him well enough to anticipate his wishes. He would have requested tea in less than a quarter-hour if Witting had not brought it. Anxious not to spill on the letters, Darcy left the tea to the side while he read the letter intended for his twenty-fourth birthday.

Dearest Fitzwilliam,

Happy birthday, my dear son. You are now the age I was when I had you. How strange that is to imagine! I hope that you took my advice and, if you are married, that you have married someone who brings you joy and completeness.

Please be patient with your sister. The upcoming years will be a challenge. Young women are going through a period of transformation and will need to depend on your and your father's support. She is stuck between girlhood and womanhood, and she no doubt wishes for more freedom, regardless of if she is ready for said freedom or not. Perhaps the letters I wrote to you during your teenage years will be beneficial in understanding the situation she is in, since you likely went through something similar. Boys go through it later, but it is no less intense.

I've always believed that having younger siblings is good practice for men who want to be better husbands and fathers, so any difficulties you have being a brother can be useful for the future. It is different, of course, remarkably so. It is impossible to understand the complexities of parenthood until you experience it yourself. I remember thinking that the midwife was gone mad when she left our house after we had you. Of course, there were nursemaids and such, but you were only a few hours old when she handed you to me and then left the house. I was petrified. Yet, I think I did pretty well. I hope you agree.

I'm not sure how much you recall from your early years, but your father and I were regarded as quite unorthodox parents. We did not allow nursemaids or governesses to strike you. We did much more of the work of parenting than most people of our class, taking you with us many places when others would have left their children at home. Most people thought this would spoil you terribly. We ensured you learned skills considered not suitable for your gender or your station. I remember many raised eyebrows when you showed the pillow you embroidered off to your aunts and uncles. I thought Sir Lewis was going to have a fit later that same day when you proudly announced that you helped me to plan the evening's menu. You see, I did not wish for you to be lacking any skill that might be either enjoyable or useful to you. I trust your father did the same for your sister. Girls should learn mathematics and how to defend themselves, as those skills might be needed for them as well, regardless of their chosen path in life.

Should you have children, do not think that I am telling you how you ought to raise them. No doubt you have your own notions, as will your wife. Each child is different as well. You must decide what is best for your family. However, I beg that you will consider if learning to sew, for example, harmed you in any way or if it has ever assisted you. Particularly in subjects you were interested in, we never limited you unless the content was inappropriate for your age. Do you feel that you were spoiled by our spending so much time with you? Are you undisciplined because you were not struck? I do not know how you feel about our doing this, but I hope we did well by you. That is all that parents can do: try their best, show their children love, and hope that their children will turn out well.

As I write these letters, I can't help but feel how much of your life I'm going to miss. I am sorry that I cannot be there for you, my son. I hope that you have a long life. If you have children, I hope you see them grow up and have children of their own.

I love you, my darling boy,

Mamma

Darcy carefully folded the letter and placed it gently in the box. He sat back and tried to control the lump in his throat while he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He thought of his sister, and how much change she had gone through. How old would she have been when he was four-and-twenty? Twelve? Yes, the last four years had been very difficult, particularly since he did not have their father to assist him in helping her through it. He wondered if his struggles with Georgiana were a sign that he ought not to have children. What if he was not fit to be a father, since he could not keep his sister safe from harm? But surely he would be much wiser by the time he had a child old enough to go through those struggles. His mother was six-and-thirty when he was twelve. He was twenty-three when he had been given guardianship of his sister. An infant had to be easier than a young lady, at least in some ways.

He made a cup of tea for himself and took a biscuit off the plate. He ate slowly, wondering if he ought to go to the breakfast room or if the others would take a tray in their rooms as well. He ought, perhaps, to order a more substantial breakfast, but he had not the stomach for it yet. He finished his biscuit and tea before opening the next letter.

Dearest Fitzwilliam,

This is the last of the birthday letters I will write you. This is not because I do not wish to continue, for I do, but I cannot go on forever. Every day, I grow weaker and I believe I am coming to the end of my life. I am very sorry to leave you and your sister.

Since you are now twenty-five, and assuming your father is still alive, you will come into your inheritance from the Fitzwilliam side. I trust that you will manage your income well and that you shall care for those under your protection to the best of your ability. The interest is plenty to live on. Pray, do not take funds out of the principle unless it cannot be prevented. No carriage or card game is worth damaging your future and that of your children, my dear.

If you can, I hope you shall put some of your income aside, adding it to the amount in the four-percents. Of course, you should give plenty to charity and make sure the tenants are cared for first, but three thousand pounds is a large amount for a young man, particularly if you are not wed.

You must be ever more vigilant if you are not wed, for now that you have an estate and income of your own, the mammas of the ton will see you as a prize catch for their daughters. I do not wish to have a compromise decide your fate as it did my sister's. Be careful, my boy.

I hope you remember that I love you regardless of what mistakes you make or if you make choices that I would not. My love for you is not conditional, my son. I have loved you since before you were born and I shall love you after I am gone. Do not worry that you shall disappoint me, for I know you, my boy, and you are a good person. Give your sister a hug for me, as I love her as much as I do you.

Love,

Mamma

Darcy could not hold back his tears now, and he let them flow freely. So many emotions swirled within him that he could not discern what they were. Anger and hatred for his aunt. Sadness and joy when he thought of his sister. Love for his family and hope for the future mixed with resentment that some of his mother's words were lost to him forever.

He allowed himself five minutes to feel all he needed to before he stood and went to the washbasin to set himself to rights again. He drank another cup of tea, allowing the genial beverage to calm his senses. He then called for Witting to again hide the letters away before donning his coat and going outside. He hoped that Elizabeth would be out for a walk this morning, as she had implied she would be. That was before Lady Catherine's death, though, so she might be too busy. He strode towards the path by the stream, hoping she would be there.