A/N - Feb. 24, 2025 small edits.

Hello everyone. Thank you so much for the follows and interest in my 2nd story. I sincerely apologize for the long delay in getting this going.
Life and it's trials and tribulations got in the way. Don't you just love when it sucks all the creativity right out of you?

Anyway, I'm not finished, but I am about half way through. Had a false start, hit a wall and then needed to go back to the beginning and make changes. But I think its on the right path now.

I still don't have a permanent title, so the temp one will stay for now. Because the story isn't complete, there may be a break in posting for a while, but I really hope not.

I look forward to feedback and constructive criticisms. Trolls need not apply. I have a filter on anyway, so if troll are trying to see their words in 'lights'... they won't!

Here we go!

Prologue

November, 1813

Pemberley

Fitzwilliam Darcy stood before the crypt, shoulders bowed. It was a bitterly cold day, and though the ground was covered in white, the sky above was clear. One might think he stood there full of regrets. The truth was more shameful; he was relieved.

Theirs had only been a marriage of convenience. She had begged him to take her away from her tormentor. To safeguard her from the one person whose every action tortured the daughter she was obliged to nurture. Sadly, her rescue came too late to save her life.

When he and his sister Georgiana had visited her estate following their return from extensive traveling, the sight of her had shocked and appalled him.

At the very first opportunity for them to speak privately, she revealed it all to him. Her mother had become deranged and cruel. The older woman blamed her daughter for any perceived insult, but most especially for not securing Pemberley. Dosed with one concoction after another, all she saw was her death, in the very near future.

In an attempt to save her life, he could do naught else but acquiesce. Her mother would never release her, without the benefit of a marriage license.

Life at Pemberley refreshed her and she grew stronger in body and spirit. Both a local doctor and a specialist from London monitored her health and suggested the most modern practices available. The angel of death had removed his claws from her person, and everyone was hopeful for a full recovery.

Alas, she had not grown strong enough before a cold, which developed into a putrid fever of the lungs, laid siege to her weakened body.

His wife, so fatigued and compromised by the potions and bleedings over the years, had no defense against the virulent illness. She fought valiantly, but it was her heart which gave way in the end.

The gentleman turned and walked away from the grave, placing his hat on his head.

A strong wind lifted fallen leaves into the air, twirling around his ankles and legs. Their movement was halted against the fresh plaque announcing its newest tenant.

Here lay Anne de Bough Darcy

Gone too soon,

may she find peace in heaven.