Page 2 of Reputation, an Easy Thing to Lose (Reputation Verse #1)

Chapter 1

The Dawning of a New Day

Gracechurch Street, Cheapside, Lo ndon

22 September 1812

F rom her perch in the window seat of the second-floor bedroom, Elizabeth Bennet watched the sun rise over St. Paul’s Cathedral as the great bells announced a new day. Sighing, she put down the letters she had been perusing and looked over to the serene form of her older sister, Jane, asleep in their bed. Soon, the household would waken, there would be four small children to tend and much work to be accomplished before attempting to find oblivion in sleep once again. But for now, the house was peaceful.

It had been nearly a month since she and Jane had come to live with Aunt Madeline and Uncle Edward Gardiner in Lo ndon.

On the same day Elizabeth and her aunt had been entertained by Fitzwilliam Darcy and his sister Georgiana in the music room of their Derbyshire estate, Pemberley, Elizabeth’s father had found Wickham and Lydia holed up in a disgusting one room apartment north of Covent Garden. The next morning, before Jane’s letter detailing the elopement had been delivered to Elizabeth, Mr. Bennet and Wickham had met on the duelling f ield.

At dawn, Mr. Bennet had shot Wickham through the heart, killing him insta ntly.

Though Wickham may have chosen poorly when he decided upon pistols, as the quiet and bookish Mr. Bennet had been the head of the Oxford shooting club in his university days, the rake did not entirely miss his mark. Wickham’s shot went south as he was felled, and struck Mr. Bennet’s upper leg, lodging a bullet in the thick bone. Lydia was able to support her father back to the Gardiners’ Cheapside home in a hackney coach but was unable to care for his wounds. Before the Gardiners made it back to London, an infection had taken over Mr. Bennet’s body.

Mr. Bennet died of his infection on 13 August 1812.

The Bennets’ cousin and heir, Mr. William Collins, came to claim their estate, Longbourn, less than one whole month after Mr. Bennet’s death. As an ordained minister, most expected he would have given the Bennet ladies more time to adjust to their new situation. However, he gave up the valuable living in Kent at the estate of Lady Catherine de Bourgh in all due haste. Jane and Elizabeth had come to live with their aunt and uncle in London while their mother and three younger sisters moved into the house of their other aunt and uncle in Meryton. Mrs. Bennet had put up a serious objection to Elizabeth’s relocation to London, as she blamed their expulsion from Longbourn on Elizabeth’s prior refusal to marry her cousin, Collins. London was, in Mrs. Bennet’s mind, the best place for her daughters to find husbands, and she believed that Elizabeth was not worthy of any such advantage. However, her brothers, Gardiner and Phillips, were firm in their arrangements, and so Elizabeth and Jane went off to Lo ndon.

Elizabeth now found it difficult to sleep more than a few hours each night. Every morning, at about four a.m. according to the mantle clock, Elizabeth woke from dreams of a life she would now never have, with a man far too good, whom she loved most ardently. Then, she rose from her bed.

Looking down at her hands, filled with letters between herself and her middle sister Mary, the only member of her immediate family besides Jane who would communicate with Elizabeth, she fought to control her tears. Yesterday afternoon had brought an express rider to the Gardiners’ door carrying two missives. One from Elizabeth’s Uncle Phillips to her Uncle Gardiner, and one from Mary to Elizabeth and Jane. Both said the same t hing.

Lydia Bennet, the youngest of the Bennet sisters, just sixteen years of age, was with c hild.

It was the end to all their family’s hopes and respectability. Unable to hold in her sobs, and not wishing to wake her sister, Elizabeth donned one of her three full mourning gowns and descended the stairs to the breakfast parlour. Usually this early, only she, Cook, and Mrs. Mathers, the Gardiners’ elderly housekeeper, were awake. This morning, however, Elizabeth found her uncle taking his tea.

“Good morning, Uncle. You are up earlier than expe cted.”

Edward stood and filled a plate with morning meats for Elizabeth. “Yes, dear, I have a very early meeting with some of the inspectors from the Royal Imports Office and must be at my warehouse by eight a.m. Whenever I have these early meetings, I fear sleeping too late, so I am up with more than two hours to spare.” Edward looked closely at Elizabeth’s eyes, normally full of colour and sparkle, but which looked dull this morning. “I see you are still distressed over yesterday’s news from Meryton. Did you sleep at all last n ight?”

“A little, yes, though I confess Jane and I were up late into the night, discussing what must be done. Then I rose at my normal time just before sunrise. So, I am more fatigued than u sual.”

Edward set down his teacup with some force and rubbed the sides of his temples. “What do you mean ‘ what must be done ’? Lydia is my problem to solve with your Uncle Phillips. I do not see what you or Jane can do for her until the babe is born. And even after that event, there may be extraordinarily little for her, except some position as a companion to an old tradesman’s widow who is beyond caring about her own reputa tion.”

Taking a careful sip of her tea, Elizabeth looked out of the window, avoiding Edward’s gaze. “I am going to find a position as a governess or maybe a compa nion.”

“You will do no such thing! I will not have you go into service while I have money in my pocket and breath in my body.”

She turned back to him. “Uncle, be reasonable. You cannot keep us forever, and with Lydia’s shame now complete, we are fully unmarriageable. As you know, marriage is the only respectable occupation for a gentlewoman, but I cannot expect there to be any man who would want to take me, with Lydia so badly settled.” Elizabeth straightened her unused silverware and smoothed out the wrinkles in her serviette. “There is still hope for Jane, for there shall always be hope where there is so much beauty in the face and soul. But I am determined I cannot wait.”

“This is wholly unnecessary,” Edward blustered and stood up from his chair. “We are not in stress from having you here, and as you are not yet one and twenty, how can you give up all hope of making your own match after the babe is adopted out? Give us the year. Only one year, and you shall see, all may be well again.” He returned to the table and stilled Elizabeth’s hands from wringing holes in the table linens. “You have the annuity money from the Collinses, and your aunt and I may be able to do something for you and Jane as well, so that there might be something of a small dowry within the year. Then we shall see who would have you.”

Elizabeth scoffed. “It was indeed a generous thing for my cousin to provide us each with fifty pounds per year from the savings on the household costs. But if I am smart, I will take only the interest and keep the principle intact for the future. That is hardly enough money to buy fabric for one dress of medium quality muslin! It will not go any distance in enticing a husband. No, I wish to contract a hiring agency as soon as ma y be.”

Elizabeth rose from her seat and came to the side of Edward’s chair. She knelt on the floor and took her uncle’s hand in her own. “I am more than grateful for the care and expense you have gone to for myself and Jane. We have been welcomed into your home and treated with such kindness. But, now we must be practical. If I take a position, I will be the means of buying my family time. Time for Jane to marry someone well suited. Time for Mary to come take my place here in your house and maybe increase her charm under my aunt’s guidance. Time for Kitty to learn from Lydia’s folly. Perhaps in this time, we shall be made whole again, all o f us.”

Elizabeth rose and took her seat once more. She made a considerable attempt to lighten her mood and her smile. “Besides, Uncle, I plan to never marry. I shall instead play governess to Jane’s ten beautiful children after some handsome and well - t o -d o merchant falls instantly in love with her beauty and sweet ness.”

Edward regarded his niece with a shrewd eye. “And what of Mr. D arcy?”

The clatter from Elizabeth’s teacup hitting the table brought the Gardiners’ maid running into the dining parlour from the pantry. But Elizabeth waved the girl off. “I am well Gertrude, thank you. There is no mess.” She waited until the servant had retreated into the pantry again before addressing her uncle. “I cannot see what Mr. Darcy has to do with our situation. However pleasant a day we had visiting his estate last month, I am certain that we shall never see him a gain.”

Edward harumphed and cleared his throat. “I would not be so sure we have seen the last of Mr. Darcy. Despite your rather complicated history with that young man, he seems the sort to be a loyal fr iend.”

“Complicated is hardly fair. We knew each other last fall in Meryton where he was distant and insulting to everyone.” Elizabeth began picking at some lint on her skirt. “I hardly knew him at all, and he insulted me in front of our neighbours the first evening of our acquaintance. No one would expect that someone so far above us Bennets in wealth, connection and consequence to be l oyal.”

“I believe you have seen much more of him since he quit your old neighbourhood. Did you not meet again in Kent? And of course, we were invited to visit his estate and his sister not two months ago, which, I do not deceive myself, was all on your account. That speaks to knowing him much more than ‘hardly at all.’ Also, his manner while at Pemberley was decidedly not distant and insul ting.”

Flushed, Elizabeth folded and re -f olded her serviette. “This is not a productive conversation. Our situation is unchanged.” Finally, she put down the cloth with too much force. “Mr. Darcy is the grandson of an Earl, with one of the largest and most prosperous estates in all of England. He will not associate with disinherited women from a minor gentry estate. Even if he has not heard of Lydia’s situation, to believe he might call on me is absurd.” Elizabeth looked directly into her uncle’s eyes. “I must consider the most likely future, and I must not elevate my expectat ions.”

“No more talk of you taking a position. It is unimaginable that you would do so while in mourning for your father.” In a rather uncommon pique, Edward struck the table with his fist. “I forbi d it!”

After re -a djusting her teacup, which was unsettled from the table being jostled, Elizabeth sighed. “My twenty -f irst birthday will be in twelve days, which means I shall be able to contract for myself. And five days after that, we shall be out of the first period of mourning, which allows for some liberty to take calls, go into public, and change from blacks to greys.” Elizabeth shook her head and looked up from the table with a determined glint in her eyes. “I am sure that with the time it should take to contract a position, it will be perfectly respectable for me to be seen once I start my ser vice.”

Edward looked utterly defeated. He knew it was fruitless to argue any further, but he was also unequal to the disquiet in the breakfast room. Without a word, Edward stood from the table, kissed Elizabeth on the top of her head and took his tea into his s tudy.

Elizabeth, having lost her appetite, poured herself a fresh cup of tea and sipped it in silence, with only her thoughts. After a few minutes in this repose, she began to believe that her uncle’s fantastical dreams about Darcy had infected her own mind, not that the gentleman from Derbyshire was ever far from her thoughts. For there, outside the window, in the mews used by the few houses which shared the lane behind her uncle’s house, was a massive black horse Elizabeth was sure she recogn ized.

It had to be Incitatus, for only one animal could be so like its owner in beauty and power. Elizabeth had first encountered this horse, named for the favourite mount of Rome’s Emperor Caligula and the only animal to serve as a senator in the Roman Senate, during her stay at Netherfield, the estate nearest her home. Netherfield had been leased the previous fall by Darcy’s particular friend, Charles Bingley, and Darcy and come to visit. Jane had fallen ill with a bad cold while visiting with Bingley’s sisters, Caroline Bingley and Louisa Hurst, and Elizabeth had come to nurse her favourite sister through her sick ness.

On one of her morning walks about Netherfield, Elizabeth had passed the stables and observed owner and mount in a sweet moment. Darcy, back from his morning ride, was trying to brush Incitatus’s beautiful black coat while the horse nosed his jacket pocket incessantly. Finally, Darcy reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of sugar cubes pilfered from the sideboard in the breakfast room. Incitatus happily lapped up the treat while Darcy quietly chuckled, declaring the horse no better than a spoiled child. The encounter had stayed with Elizabeth as the first time she had ever seen a smile grace Darcy’s face. He was so handsome when he sm iled.

Later that morning, in the drawing room, Elizabeth had asked Darcy the name of his horse, and they were both pleasantly surprised by the discussion of Roman history that continued for more than a quarter of an hour. This discussion was a window to his true nature which, after seeing him again at Pemberley, helped to awaken her love. Darcy would say that the day they discussed Roman history was the day he surrendered his heart to the lively and intelligent Elizabeth. Unbeknownst to either participant, that conversation was also the launching point of another great passion, one born more of jealousy than h eart.

Coming back to the present, Elizabeth quickly abandoned her tea, grabbed a handful of sugar cubes from her aunt’s sideboard, and dashed out of the door in the kitchens leading directly to the mews. Darcy had called at least once before, several weeks ago. She had seen him as she crossed the vestibule into the south parlour. But since that day, she had not seen him again, nor had she heard her uncle mention him before their conversation not five minutes ago. She could not imagine what business Darcy had with her uncle, but, by now he must have heard of her father’s death and Collins’s possession of Longb ourn.

Rounding the corner of the house, Elizabeth stopped dead in her tracks. There, in the mews, between her uncle’s house and the courtyard of St. Michael’s, in all his enormous animal glory, was indeed Incitatus. And holding the reins was Mr. Fitzwilliam D arcy.

Unable to sleep for more than a few fitful hours, Darcy rose from his bed at four a.m. and dressed for the day. Deciding to let his poor valet, Connor, sleep a little longer, he donned work clothes then went down to the stables attached to his large Mayfair house, and saddled Incitatus. Taking Rotten Row south through Hyde Park at a swift canter, Darcy passed Buckingham Palace then traversed the Mall before slowing. Continuing down the Strand, the bells of St. Paul’s Cathedral called to him as the sun crested the horizon and bathed London in golden light. Before he knew where his heart had taken him, Darcy stood at the end of a neat street of comfortable but modest homes. The fourth door from the corner, on the west side of the street, held the Gardiner family and Elizabeth Bennet. Without thinking, Darcy led Incitatus to the mews behind the Gardiners’ home and dismou nted.

Since learning of Wickham’s desertion of his post and Lydia’s supposed elopement with the rake, Darcy had been desperate to help the Bennet family. He had left Pemberley at first light the day after Elizabeth and the Gardiners returned to Longbourn, and headed straight for London. His aim had been to find Wickham and Lydia himself, but they had already been found, and the reprobate shot, by Mr. Bennet. Darcy had kept up some correspondence with Edward Gardiner in the weeks following Mr. Bennet’s death. Yesterday, Darcy had called just as an express rider was leaving. It had been the worst of news.

With the despair of the situation now complete, Darcy had returned home and drunk himself into a stupor after dinner. His young sister, Georgiana, discovered him in a terrible state. She was able to, as only a loving sibling could, gently coax out of him the entire story, including his behaviour in Meryton last fall, the dreadfully rude comment about Elizabeth being tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me at the assembly where they first met, and even the details about Darcy’s insults to her family made during the disastrous marriage proposal. Finally, Darcy admitted how abysmally he had treated his best friend, Charles Bingley, who was still pining after Elizabeth’s older si ster.

Georgiana had listened patiently, patted his hand indulgently, ordered tea and toast, and then told him to shap e up!

“William,” she had scolded, in a tone chillingly similar to that of their fearsome aunt, Lady Catharine de Bourgh, “crying and self -p ity are guaranteed not to solve any of the current problems, so what use are they?”

Then, Georgiana laid out a much better plan in five minutes than he had been able to discern in six weeks. First, she said he must go straight over to the Gardiners’ house before the calling hour and ask Edward to speak to Elizabeth. “I believe she was not indifferent to you while at Pemberley. How are you to know she does not care for you when you have never asked her?” Second, Darcy was to offer all their collective resources to the disposal of the Bennet family, regardless of Elizabeth’s answer to his proposals. “Be selfless and allow generosity and kindness to rule you.” Finally, Darcy was to engage Elizabeth in the plans and discussions about how to salvage the Bennet family’s reputation. “Do you not love her in part because she has her own mind? Perhaps you should us e it!”

And so, here he was. At barely seven in the morning, behind Elizabeth’s uncle’s house, hoping to find the answer to his heart’s de sire.

Finally waking from his internal reverie, Darcy was appalled at his impulsive behaviour. How had he ended up here so early, without a proper shave and smelling of horse? He was supposed to be coming to win Elizabeth’s heart, not muck the stalls. There was no way he could speak to her looking so disreputable! There was nothing for it, he would have to go back home, bathe and change, then return in the pha eton.

As Darcy gathered the reins in his hands and turned to mount his horse, the object of his thoughts rounded the corner in significant haste. The moment she saw him, Elizabeth halted, dropping a handful of sugar cubes onto the ground at her feet. Though Darcy remained oblivious to Elizabeth’s entrance, Incitatus did not. Seeing the free sugar lying about, the massive animal crossed the short distance to Elizabeth, dragging Darcy along by the reins. Darcy stumbled and crashed directly into the waiting arms of Elizabeth. It was enough to vanquish every rational thought from either’s mind. With no thought of her lost father, ruined sister, or any peering eyes, Darcy brought his lips to Elizabeth’s waiting mouth for an urgent and passionate kiss.