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“He had a surprisingly good night's sleep, and this morning his fever has all but disappeared, but he is still struggling with a stuffy nose.

I am glad it is not worse. As it is, it is heartbreaking to see him suffering, especially when he can't communicate what he needs.” Elizabeth put on a brave smile, but no one doubted how much she worried for her little boy.

Little Arthur was just over a year old and he already had everyone wrapped around his tiny fingers.

Elizabeth was an exemplary mother, taking care of him herself as much as she was able despite it not being a popular idea amongst society.

Catherine took a sip of her tea, feeling the warmth spread through her body, bolstering her for the difficult conversation ahead. “William, how are you this morning? I cannot imagine how you must be feeling right now.”

Looking up at Catherine, Darcy gave a wan smile.

He had deep shadows under both his eyes, suggesting he had not slept at all either.

“Thank you for your concern, Catherine. I was not as close to Cedric as I am to Theodore, but I am still deeply affected by his death.” He briefly glanced at the ceiling, as if trying to make sense of it all, before shaking his head. “It has been a tremendous shock.”

“I wish I knew the right words to say to make things better.” Catherine glanced at Elizabeth as she put her arm around her husband, offering the comfort that he needed.

Darcy held his wife’s gaze for a moment before turning back to Catherine. “The fact that you want to be here for me is enough.”

Despite the circumstances, Catherine couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy towards her sister's loving relationship.

She felt a pang of longing as she realized that watching them might be the closest she ever came to experiencing something like it.

She had felt nothing remotely like it with any of the gentlemen she met at the various dances and social events she was required to attend.

As she gazed into her cup, she couldn't help but contemplate how being surrounded by babies, with Elizabeth, Jane, and her mother all experiencing the joy of motherhood within a short span of time, offered her a sense of purpose.

There was sure to be more too, especially since William and Elizabeth seemed to be unable to stay away from one another.

There would at least always be the need for someone to help tend them.

Catherine took another fortifying sip of tea before broaching the topic that had been worrying her all night. “How was Colonel Fitzwilliam when you saw him last night?”

Rubbing his face, William responded with a pained air.

“There was something about him that was not himself. Despite the surrounding chaos, he remained composed and handled everything efficiently. From checking on people to tending to injuries, he made sure everyone was taken care of with great diligence. He even made sure that the carriage was hauled safely to a blacksmith, though I doubt it can be salvaged.” With a sigh, Darcy shook his head.

“Theodore managed to hold back his grief until he reached home with Cedric's body, but once there, it consumed him entirely.”

“I worry about him. He held his brother in high regard and never aspired to the position of earl,” Elizabeth spoke into the somber room.

Catherine felt a deep ache in her chest, knowing how much Colonel Fitzwilliam must be suffering.

Was it only the night before that he had brought so much light into her evening?

He treated her with respect, valuing her opinions and allowing her to freely express herself regardless of her gender.

It was ironic that he, who was always so eager to help, was now the one in desperate need of assistance.

She worried he would not see the need to accept it. “I worry about him too.”

Catherine sat alone in her sitting room.

She had retreated from a household that was alive with preparations.

Despite the frenzied atmosphere, there was a clear sense of order and purpose in the house.

The servants moved swiftly and efficiently, each one knowing exactly what needed to be done.

Becoming a house in mourning was not such a simple thing.

Plans for the funeral were being discussed and black dresses were being found for all the ladies.

Taking up her paper and pencils, she positioned herself at the desk in front of the window that looked over the courtyard.

Instead of admiring the beautiful sight, she turned her attention inward, as she often did before working on a creative project.

Her fingers itched to create, and she found solace in the texture of charcoal and pencils, ink and paint.

She had to bring a stability of some kind to the staggering feeling of grief she was lost in.

There was a way to bring some kind of positivity to all the negative that surrounded her. There had to be.

A memory came to her from the night before.

The moment was filled with laughter and smiles, creating a bright and cheery atmosphere.

It had happened before the night had turned so dark and hopeless with an accident that would change so much.

Her hand moved instinctively, as if guided by the memory of love and light.

She drew out what she wanted to appear on the page and submerged herself in her work.

With single-minded determination, she allowed only the image in her mind to remain, blocking out all other distractions.

She spent the next hour ignoring all that was going on outside of the drawing that she was creating.

Ignoring how her fingers became soiled and her nose gained a smudge of its own, she worked hard on her creation.

Though she had planned to add colors later, she couldn't help but pause when she finally saw the picture as she envisioned it.

The anticipation of what was to come filled her with excitement, and she hoped it would provide solace for the colonel.