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Chapter One

Derbyshire 1799 Mr. Thomas Bennet

“I t will be good to be with our children again.” Mrs. Fanny Bennet patted her husband’s leg affectionately. He put his hand over hers, squeezing gently. The carriage swayed back and forth, the spring wind buffeting the sides.

“I have missed them,” Mr. Bennet confirmed. “And it was generous of Madeline and Edward to stay with them whilst we journeyed to Hertfordshire.”

An express had come three weeks past to their lodgings in Lambton, Derbyshire. Thomas Bennet’s father and elder brother had died, leaving him—once a second son—the unexpected heir to the family estate. He had never thought Longbourn would be his. At the time, he had established himself as a country solicitor, working closely with Archibald Palmer, the father of Madeline Gardiner. She was married to Edward Gardiner, Mrs. Bennet’s younger brother.

“My brother and sister will be eager to return to London. Their Easter visit extended long past what they expected.” Mrs. Bennet smiled at her husband. “How long do you suppose it will be before we can depart for Longbourn?”

Mr. Bennet pursed his lips in thought. “I imagine we can be gone in little more than a fortnight. Madeline wrote she began packing soon after we left. We have only our personal effects; the house in Lambton was let complete, so everything within it must remain.”

“We shall need two carriages and a wagon to transport everything.” Mrs. Bennet frowned. “I do not suppose our servants will wish to come to Hertfordshire. They have family here.”

“Now that their children are married, the Hills may wish to accompany us. I believe their daughter lives in Hertfordshire.” Mr. Bennet patted his wife’s hand soothingly. “Molly and Martha will remain here. They are still young, and their father leases a farm near Lambton.”

“Longbourn’s cook seemed competent. I think it is best to retain her.” His wife’s brow wrinkled in concentration. “There is so much to do! I was not raised to be the mistress of an estate. Oh, Thomas, what if I cannot do it?”

Mr. Bennet leaned down and pecked his wife on the lips. “I shall be there to assist you. My father taught me estate management, but I never thought to use that knowledge. We shall learn to be master and mistress of the estate together.”

His wife beamed her gratitude. “It is very good that we already have a son. The entail will end with him.”

“And this inheritance will help us provide dowries for the girls. They must be looked after, too.”

Mrs. Bennet nodded in agreement. “Would it be too much to ask to redo the mistress’s chambers?” she asked eagerly. “Will we have the funds?”

Mr. Bennet chuckled. “Yes, we can see it done as soon as we take residence. Heaven knows those rooms have not been refreshed since my mother came to Longbourn as a newly married lady. You will not mind sharing my chambers whilst the work is done?” He winked mischievously at his wife, pleased with the blush that appeared on her cheeks.

“Thank you, husband. I confess, I hardly know what to do with myself. I have always been forced to live frugally. Though the interest from my dowry helps with our finances, I know it is not much.”

“We shall have two thousand a year, Fanny. All will be well.”

Fanny shook her head. “You misunderstand me. I am frightened that I shall forget all I know about frugality and prudence. It will be very easy to find things to purchase. I do not wish to beggar the estate. Little Thomas needs something to inherit.”

“It speaks well of you to be cognizant of the danger more money could bring.” Thomas pressed another kiss to the side of his wife’s head. “We shall exercise caution. I am certain there are things I could do to increase Longbourn’s income.”

The carriage lurched to a sudden stop. The coachman shouted something unintelligible. Thomas shared a worried glance with his wife.

“I shall just go and see what the fuss is about,” he murmured.

Fanny clasped his hand. “Oh, do be careful! I could not bear it if something befell you now!”

Mr. Bennet pushed the carriage door open and climbed down. “Jones?” he called. “What is the meaning of this delay?”

“This here child, sir.” Jones, the coachman, pointed a thumb toward a little waif standing in the middle of the road.

Thomas stepped forward to get a better look at the girl. She was petite, with dark brown curls plaited down her back. Her gown was pale blue and splattered with mud. His gaze traveled to her face. Dried blood stained her cheeks and forehead, and a bloody gash was prominently visible in her hair.

Stepping forward, he crouched down and took her hand. She looked at him vacantly, her eyes dazed and confused. “What is your name, lass?” he asked softly.

“Lizzy.” She whispered her short reply. It seemed as though she looked right through him.

“What happened to your head, Lizzy?” Mr. Bennet pulled out a handkerchief and tried to dab at her wound. The child cried out in pain and collapsed on the road. She curled into a ball and let out a plaintive cry.

“We cannot leave her here, Jones.” Mr. Bennet straightened. “Let me apprise Mrs. Bennet of the situation. The girl will come with us.”

Jones frowned, but nodded. Mr. Bennet returned to the carriage. He opened the door and spoke briefly with his wife. Mrs. Bennet had a big heart and would agree with his decision to bring the girl along with them.

“Oh, the dear child!” Mrs. Bennet climbed down from the carriage amidst her husband’s protests. “She will need a mother. Let me go to her.”

The girl lay where Mr. Bennet had left her. Her arms and hands were curled beneath her chest, and her legs and knees tucked up under her chin. She shuddered, her sobs rising and falling like a child too tired to cry properly.

Mrs. Bennet crouched down next to the frightened girl and placed a tender hand on her back. “There, now,” she whispered soothingly. “It is a little chilly out here. What say you to coming into the carriage? We have some bread and cheese. Does that sound nice?”

The girl—Lizzy—lifted her head and blinked owlishly. “I do not know if I like cheese,” she murmured. Slowly, she sat up, keeping her hands clenched tightly in her lap.

“Let us find out.” Mrs. Bennet stood and offered her hand to Lizzy. Slowly, Lizzy took the extended hand and rose to her feet. Her other hand came to her chest. Mr. Bennet noted the tightly clenched fist and wondered if the child held something. He said nothing, content to let his wife work her wonders. She has always been an exemplary mother, he thought proudly.

Mrs. Bennet led the timid child to the carriage. They both climbed aboard, and Mr. Bennet followed behind.

They settled onto the bench, and the carriage lurched forward. His wife drew a basket of food from beneath the bench and uncovered it. She broke off a piece of cheese and held it out to little Lizzy, who took it and popped it into her mouth. Bit by bit, Mrs. Bennet fed her bread and cheese, waiting patiently as she chewed in silence. At last, Lizzy’s weary eyes closed, and she leaned against the squabs, drifting into sleep.

“What are we to do with her?” Mrs. Bennet whispered. “Surely, something dreadful has occurred. Did you notice the gash on her head?”

“Perhaps a carriage accident?” Mr. Bennet speculated. “We can send out inquiries when we arrive in Lambton.”

“And if we do not discover her family? Then what? We cannot just put her in a home for orphans. It would not be right.” Mrs. Bennet folded her arms stubbornly. He recognized that stance. His wife had already decided her course and would not be swayed.

“How are we to explain her presence to our children?” he asked, perplexed. Mrs. Bennet’s motherly instincts had always been strong, but he sensed something more now. She looked at the girl sleeping on the bench across from them. There was steel in her eyes.

“She is our cousin. Her parents died in a carriage accident. She will remain with us until another family member claims her.” Mrs. Bennet paused. “I wonder at her wound. If not a carriage accident, then what could have caused it?”

“I do not know.” Mr. Bennet shook his head sadly. “I only hope we can do what needs to be done for her.”

“As of this moment, she is one of our own. I shall be her mama, and you will be her papa. No one in Hertfordshire need know any different.”

He nodded in agreement. “She looks of an age with Thomas. Maybe a little younger. Do you think she will be able to tell us how old she is? We only know her name.”

“Lizzy. It is a pretty name. Miss Elizabeth Bennet.” Mrs. Bennet smiled in satisfaction and snuggled next to her husband’s side. “How do you feel about having six children, sir?” she asked cheekily.

“I would gladly have seven or eight if it were possible.” Mr. Bennet kissed his wife’s upturned nose. After their youngest, Lydia, was born, they had been told there would be no more children. Maybe little Miss Lizzy was a blessing.

The girl stirred a few hours later. She slept so soundly that she barely moved. Even the bumpy carriage ride did nothing to disturb her.

Mr. Bennet watched as Elizabeth’s eyes fluttered open. She sat up and looked around in confusion. When her gaze landed on the couple sitting across from her, she gasped. Fear stole across her expression, and she whimpered.

“Papa,” she whispered. “Papa.”

“Who is your papa?” Mrs. Bennet asked tenderly.

Elizabeth blinked. “I do not remember,” she replied. Her brow furrowed. “Why do I not remember?” One hand rose to touch the gash on her head. “What happened?”

“We are not certain.” Mrs. Bennet replied gently, moving to sit beside her. “We hoped you could tell us.”

The child closed her eyes, face drawn in concentration. When she opened them, they filled with tears. “I cannot recall,” she said miserably. “I only remember walking for a long time.”

Mrs. Bennet exchanged a glance with her husband. “Well, you may stay with us. I am Mrs. Bennet. This gentleman is my husband. We are going to fetch our children before we go to our estate. When we reach our destination, we will see if we can find your family. Can you tell us how old you are?”

Elizabeth frowned. “I believe I am eight. I had a birthday recently, I think.”

“That is something.” Mr. Bennet spoke for the first time. His words caused their young charge to squeak in terror and shrink in on herself. His wife gave him a confused look and then patted the child’s hand.

“Mr. Bennet is not so very frightening,” she said soothingly. “You will like him very much. He plays with his children and reads them stories.”

Elizabeth cowered into Mrs. Bennet’s side, burying her face in the lady’s shoulder.

“There, there, now. You will see in time.” Mrs. Bennet kissed the child’s head. “Will you let me wash your face and clean the wound on your head?” She pulled a handkerchief out and held it out. “See? Nothing but white cloth. I have some water here in this flask.” Pulling a metal vessel from the basket, Mrs. Bennet opened the lid and poured clear, cold liquid onto the white linen. Carefully, she turned Elizabeth’s head and dabbed at the blood on her cheeks and forehead. Her efforts revealed a pale face with a smattering of freckles on her nose. Elizabeth’s confused eyes held intelligence, and Mr. Bennet wondered what horrors had rendered her so skittish and fearful.

“That is much better.” Mrs. Bennet put the soiled handkerchief into the basket. “We shall have to order you a bath when we reach our lodgings. I fear there is nothing I can do about the mess in your hair for now.”

She exchanged a glance with her husband as Elizabeth leaned back into her side. The child drifted off to sleep, her fist still curled protectively around whatever secret it held.

When they arrived in Lambton, Mrs. Bennet gently shook her charge awake. “We have arrived, Elizabeth,” she murmured. “Shall we go inside?” Elizabeth nodded wearily, taking Mrs. Bennet’s hand as they stepped down from the carriage. Mr. Bennet followed behind, aware that the child feared his presence. He did not wish to frighten her.

“Mama!” Their son, Thomas, greeted them at the door, a broad grin on his face. “We thought you would be here hours ago! Who is that?”

The boisterous lad pointed at Elizabeth, who cowered behind Mrs. Bennet.

“Let us in the door, son.” Mr. Bennet walked past his wife and ward to enter the house. He extended his arms to his heir, hugging him fiercely. “This is our distant cousin, Tommy. She will stay with us for now.”

“What is your name?” Tommy broke away from his father and came toward the newcomer.

Instead of answering, Elizabeth whimpered and pulled further away.

“Her name is Elizabeth.” Mrs. Bennet patted her son’s head. “Perhaps you should go find Jane and Mary. I assume Lydia and Kitty are abed?”

“Aunt Maddy is with them now. And Uncle Gardiner went to the inn.” Tommy bounded away, calling over his shoulder, “I shall go get Jane!”

“Will you order a bath, Thomas?” Fanny turned to him. “I shall take Lizzy upstairs. Mary has outgrown several gowns. We can use those until I can visit the shops.”

Mr. Bennet nodded. Mary had inherited her father’s lanky form. She was as tall as Jane, despite being three years younger than her oldest sister. Elizabeth’s stature contrasted sharply—she was petite and not much taller than five-year-old Kitty.

Mrs. Bennet took their charge away, and Mr. Bennet did not see her again until the next morning. Still skittish, Elizabeth was at least clean. Once washed, her head wound did not look so terrible, and her hair was styled to hide the worst of the damage. Her hair fell to the middle of her back and was escaping its plait. She sat quietly at the table, her hands clasped in her lap and glancing nervously at the other children seated beside her. Kitty and Lydia remained in the nursery, but the Bennets had traditionally had their three eldest children take breakfast with them.

The reason for Elizabeth’s presence was given again, and the children accepted it without question. Mr. Bennet resolved to pen a few inquiries directly after breakfast. Should they discover the child’s family before they departed for Hertfordshire, she could be delivered into their hands when they commenced their journey.

And if you cannot find them? The voice of reason in his head begged him to consider the potential consequences—good and bad—involved in raising another child. Fanny will treat her as one of her own, he reasoned. She has a big heart. I must be prepared to do likewise.