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Balliol College

Oxford University

5 th December, 1815

“You are not truly going to study through the Christmas holiday!” Frederick “Ferdy” Smythe demanded, casually kicking a log in the fireplace of his college room. The log shifted obligingly and the flames flared up, producing a welcome burst of heat in the rather chilly room.

Nathaniel Stanton shrugged deprecatingly, “Of course not the entire holiday, but yes, I will study. I want to pass my final exams, and I promise you my tutor is not pleased with my latest efforts.”

The Honorable Jude Arnold, heir to Viscount Damerel of Kent, took a deep draught of port wine and shook his head, “How very tedious that you poor plebeians find yourself studying ardently in order to receive your degree.”

There was a chuckle from the other resident of the room, Adam Manlow, who was himself the son of a baron.

Nathaniel Stanton laughed as well, “True enough, true enough. Nevertheless, I do not wish to stay here at college any longer than I must, and therefore I intend to study hard over the Christmas season in the hopes of passing the first time I sit for my exams. If my father had not insisted I stay in school, I would have fled years ago.”

“If you had, you would not have enjoyed our company for so long, which would have been a tragedy,” Smythe pointed out cheerfully, pouring himself another drink of port.

“Seriously, Stanton,” Jude Arnold continued, his brow furrowed with disapproval, “I cannot bear the thought of you studying throughout the holidays in London. You know my parents would be delighted to have you visit, and our estate is only fifty miles south of your London home. You must come for at least a few days after Christmas! There will be some fine hunting.”

Stanton suppressed a slight shudder. He found nothing quite as boring and cold as riding a horse through field and forest in search of some hapless fox. Fortunately, he had a perfect excuse this time for declining what was undoubtedly a generous invitation by his friend.

“So sorry, old chap,” he replied gravely, “but I promised my parents that I would attend some wretched dinner party on the 28 th of December. I do believe Mother hopes I will find a wife; apparently some of the unmarried ladies attached to the family are very wealthy.”

“Who will be your host?” Adam Manlow inquired lazily, leaning back on his chair.

“A, er, Mr. Darcy, if memory serves me,” Stanton replied.

Both men of noble birth sat up in astonishment and Manlow leaned forward in excitement, “Darcy of Pemberley?”

“I believe so, yes,” Nathaniel replied in some bewilderment. “Yes, Pemberley, that is right. Have you heard of him?”

The viscount’s son and the baron’s son exchanged awed glances.

“Heard of him, yes, of course we have!”Manlow exclaimed. “The Pemberley estate is worth ten thousand pounds a year and Darcy owns several subsidiary estates. His sister, Miss Georgiana Darcy, will bring a dowry of thirty thousand pounds into her marriage.”

“More to the point, Darcy’s dinner parties at Christmas are famous, Stanton, and invitations are prized like rubies. However did your mother snag you one?”

“I believe that my father was acquainted with someone who is connected to Mr. Darcy in some way.”

“You are a lucky man,” Manlow said with a deep sigh. “Very lucky. Miss Darcy is not the only possible heiress, mind you; Mr. Darcy has two sisters by marriage who are reputed to be both lovely and well dowered.”

“Not that you have much of a chance with any of them,” Arnold commented cynically. “Some truly high born men have been invited to a Darcy dinner party once and have never been invited back; Darcy is apparently extremely fastidious where his connections are concerned. But the food and drink are reputed to be excellent and you will no doubt rub shoulders with the elite of the land. You are a fortunate man.”

Nathaniel Stanton, eldest son of a wealthy merchant, reluctant student at Balliol College of Oxford, suppressed a shudder.

“Yes,” he agreed in a hollow tone. “I am very fortunate indeed.”

***

Darcy House

London

28 th December, 1815

Nathaniel Stanton smiled mechanically at his host and hostess, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy. The former was tall, handsome, and rather intimidating and the latter was a lovely woman with fine eyes and a vibrant expression.

“Mr. Stanton,” Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy said with a welcoming smile. “It is a pleasure to welcome you to our home.”

“Thank you, Mr. Darcy, Mrs. Darcy.”

“Please enter the dining room and find your seat, Mr. Stanton,” the lady continued with a gesture toward the hall to the right.

Nathaniel nodded and bowed before stepping away thankfully; behind him in the receiving line was a young man who was the second son of a duke. He felt thoroughly out of place here among the upper elite of London Society. He did not like fancy parties, and he did not wish to find a boring heiress to marry. The only reason he had submitted to this uncomfortable evening was that he loved his father and mother very much.

The dining room was, to Stanton’s surprise, set up with small tables which seated four persons each. A servant was waiting just inside the door and directed him to a table sitting at the back of the room. There were two people already seated there, a portly man in clerical garb and a very handsome young woman dressed in a soft pink dress.

“But surely the accident at Greenwich indicates that high pressure steam engines are too dangerous,” the young lady insisted in an exasperated tone. “Watt’s lower pressure system is far safer.”

“An accident does not necessarily mean that the design itself is at fault,” the portly parson replied indignantly. “Trevithick insisted that the Greenwich accident was due to operator error.”

Nathaniel Stanton found himself standing behind his chair with his mouth hung open in astonishment.

“Ah, Mr. Nathaniel Stanton?” the clergyman inquired, clambering rather clumsily to his feet.

“Yes, sir,” Nathaniel agreed with wide eyes.

“I am Mr. William Collins. I hold a living near the Pemberley Estate, and Mr. Darcy is my patron. This is Miss Lydia Bennet, youngest sister of Mrs. Darcy.”

“Mr. Collins, Miss Bennet,” Stanton managed to croak out, bowing toward both. He was quite certain that his bows were all wrong; there were very specific rules about how deeply to bow to various individuals, but his brain was too distracted by the conversation for him to remember the details.

“I am sorry,” he continued carefully, “but were you speaking of steam engines?”

“Yes, indeed,” Miss Lydia Bennet agreed cheerfully. “Please, do sit down, Mr. Stanton. My eldest sister, Mrs. Jane Bingley, tells me that you are a science enthusiast with a particular interest in steam engines, locomotives, and plumbing.”

Nathaniel’s eyes nearly popped out of his sockets, “Yes, that is correct! Are you ... could you be interested in such things, Miss Bennet?”

“I am indeed,” Lydia said dreamily. “It is all so fascinating, is it not? The use of heat to make steam, the steam to power engines. Horses have their place, of course, but they tire, they get injured. If steam power is improved sufficiently, the time of the horse may pass.”

The youth shook his head in amazement, “I agree, Miss Bennet! Most people scoff at the very notion, but think of it, an engine that never needs to rest, that can be fueled continually.”

He turned away from this thoroughly fascinating young woman to the parson, “Am I correct that you too are interested in such things as steam power?”

“Yes, Mr. Stanton,” Mr. Collins replied, taking a drink of water. “Yes, indeed. I too am a science enthusiast in a variety of areas.”

Stanton eagerly sat down, “I actually rode Trevithick’s locomotive, Catch Me Who Can on its track in Bloomsbury.”

Lydia Bennet squealed with delight and Mr. Collins leaned forward enthusiastically, “Did you indeed, Mr. Stanton? What year?”

“It must have been 1808,” Nathaniel replied with stars in his eyes. “It was a delightful experience, absolutely delightful. The smell of the burning coal, the rumble of the locomotive beneath me. I was only thirteen or fourteen at the time but I will never forget it. Indeed, that experience fueled my interest in steam power.”

He sighed and shook his head, “I know my father greatly regrets buying me that ticket, but I find I cannot tear my interests away from steam power.”

“Why is your father unhappy?” Collins demanded.

Nathaniel winced. He should not have mentioned his father’s displeasure, especially in front of Miss Lydia Bennet, sister to Mrs. Darcy herself!

“Let me guess,” Miss Bennet commented knowingly. “Your father wishes for you to pursue more gentlemanly pursuits, and thus is exasperated with your interest in industrial concerns.”

There was real sympathy on her lovely face and he nodded hesitantly, “Yes, Miss Bennet, that is entirely correct. Father has worked hard his whole life to earn money and make connections, thus enabling me to enter Oxford and rub shoulders with gentlemen. He is a kind and generous father, but this is not his vision for my life.”

“Absolute nonsense,” Mr. Collins snapped, causing both Lydia and Nathaniel to jump slightly. “We would all be best served by using the gifts that God has given us, nor is there any shame in working in business or industrial interests. I find such idiocy most frustrating!”

“Mr. Collins,” Miss Bennet said in a gentle tone, “take care not to alarm our guest.”

“Of course, of course, Mr. Stanton,” the parson replied, taking another hasty sip of water. “I do apologize. I fear my enthusiasm for encouraging one’s intellectual passions sometimes overcomes my manners.”

“Lydia, Mr. Collins, Mr. Stanton?”

All three looked up at Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy, who was standing near their table with a young, very finely dressed gentleman at her left. Collins and Stanton rose to their feet while Lydia remained seated.

“May I introduce you to Viscount Crampton, eldest son of the Marquis of Barrington? Lord Crampton, my sister, Miss Lydia Bennet, Mr. William Collins and Mr. Nathaniel Stanton.”