Page 1

CHAPTER ONE

A fter three days of rain, Elizabeth was thrilled to be out of doors.

The sunrise, seen from her bedroom window, had been pale and peaceful.

Mist spilled over the rolling hills, sheep dotted the green at impossibly perfect intervals, and the sky seeped to paler colours so slowly she hardly perceived the change.

The afternoon was bright, a relief after days of leaden low clouds that had refused to leave. She felt light and free.

Her younger sisters, typically so full of mirth, not only refused to appreciate the natural perfection, but had taken to complaining about everything, making Elizabeth regret bringing them on her walk.

“My hem is full of mud, Lizzy!” cried Lydia.

“And my slippers are ruined,” said Kitty.

Kitty had just stepped in a sizeable puddle on the path after ignoring Elizabeth’s warnings to watch her step, and there would be no recovering the silk slippers.

Their father often complained about waste, explaining repeatedly that this year’s harvest had been bad, meaning the tenants could not pay rent.

While their mother had suggested throwing the ‘delinquents’ off the land, Papa had reminded her that they were good people and good tenants who could not control the weather.

While their father could be too soft-hearted, Mama never suffered from such sentiment, unless it came to indulging her girls.

Watching Kitty and Lydia examining their garments filled Elizabeth with irritation. “I told you to dress properly for a walk. What did you expect with the weather we have had?”

Lydia scowled. “You cannot expect us to dress as you do, Lizzy.” Her gaze shifted to the coarse skirt and thick boots Elizabeth had felt no shame in wearing for the occasion. “Especially when men might be about.”

Kitty nodded emphatically. “One’s future husband might round any corner.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, disappointed to hear their mother’s marital advice emerging from her sisters’ mouths. “Men? There are no men about, and even if?—”

At that very moment, two male figures appeared around the bend. Elizabeth would have laughed had Lydia not lifted her chin in defiant victory.

“It is Mr Denny!” Lydia took Kitty’s hand and the two raced towards the men, the shorter one of whom the sisters had met at their aunt and uncle’s.

“Girls, it is not proper to—” Elizabeth stopped, for what would be the point? They would ignore any reprimand, and the damage was done. The gentlemen had already seen Lydia and Kitty scampering in a most indelicate manner to greet them.

Elizabeth followed, albeit at a slower pace, but feared tarrying too long lest the girls find their way to more unchecked trouble.

Mr Denny, whom they had met at Aunt and Uncle Philips’s house, was a kind man who told entertaining stories and enjoyed a good joke.

He was laughing heartily at something one of the girls said, and bowed at the approaching Elizabeth.

She bobbed a curtsey, and he gestured to the man at his side.

“May I introduce you to my friend, George Wickham?”

Elizabeth nodded and curtseyed to the man.

As Mr Denny explained that they had met in the Regulars, Elizabeth took note of the new man’s fine figure and handsome face: long and angular.

His blond hair fairly sparkled in the late morning sun, and his chin was bowed a bit, so that when he looked at her, it was through the veil of his thick lashes, which made Elizabeth’s legs go weak, a reaction not produced by any of the men to whom she had been introduced in a very long time.

Mr Denny said, “Mr Wickham and I were just walking back to town, if you would care to accompany us.”

“We would love to!” shouted Kitty.

Elizabeth cringed at her sister’s unchecked enthusiasm. “But Kitty, you were just complaining of your slippers.”

Kitty’s cheeks pinkened. “As they are already ruined, it will do no harm to walk in them further.”

Mr Denny looked to Elizabeth, and she nodded her consent.

He turned on his heel and the younger girls flanked him, nearly skipping to keep up with his long strides.

Their bobbing bonnets and flapping ribbons would have been an entirely comical sight if Elizabeth had not been concerned by their overabundant enthusiasm.

And at being left with a stranger with whom she was expected to converse.

“Shall we?” Mr Wickham asked, and when she agreed, they followed at a more measured pace. Elizabeth was relieved that he did not put out an elbow for her to take, though she was pleased to walk at his side. His manner was amiable, and she could not help but steal looks at his handsome countenance.

“I take it,” he began, “you are from Meryton?”

“Longbourn has been our family home for generations. It is a mile from Meryton. We have been enjoying the day. The rain has kept us locked away for too long, as you can imagine.”

“You prefer to be out of doors?”

She looked round the edge of her bonnet at him. “Yes, I do.”

“If you were a man, you might have become a huntsman.”

“If I were a man, I might have become a great many things.”

He raised an eyebrow in a most charming manner. “And what, pray, would you do if you had such a choice?”

“Become a soldier, perhaps.” When he scoffed, she decided she would remember to ask him why, but first she would answer him further. “I like adventure and I like to travel.”

“To travel? Where have you been?”

“Not many places yet, but I love exploring new places and learning new things.”

Mr Wickham smiled at this, and the tilting feeling this gave her was disorienting. She studied him further. His features were symmetrical, his teeth straight, his eyes a dazzling blue, like liquid sapphires— Heavens!

“Miss Bennet?”

She realised she had not heard something he must have asked. “Pardon?”

He smiled again, this time with a somehow lazier manner, as if he was accustomed to charming young women out of words. “To where would you like to travel?”

“Anywhere. France, when the war ends, Scotland, Italy, the Orient.”

He raised his eyebrows. “The Orient?”

“Yes. My father has books in his library describing it, and it intrigues me.”

“How uncommon for a woman of your realm.”

She nodded, wishing to say more about the challenges she had in finding entertaining people with whom to speak, especially ladies, but knew that she was to keep demurely silent about her true feelings. Instead, she asked, “Why would you steer me away from a future in the military?”

He absently pulled at his uniform jacket, a bright red that stood out magnificently against the grove of trees through which their party was passing.

“There is much drudgery. Drills and endless polishing of boots and buttons, and odd hours to keep, and all of this to prepare for battle, where one might be killed or disfigured.” One corner of his mouth quirked.

“And disfigurement seems quite off-putting.”

She nearly agreed out loud, for disfiguring his face would be a tragedy. Heavens! And again, heavens! This man had a strange power that both thrilled and terrified her. She managed to reply to him, but only barely. “When you put it that way, it does seem rather unpalatable.”

They walked the last stretch before reaching Meryton’s shopping street, speaking of her wish that she could go to university, a subject which had caused him to grow oddly sombre.

She was relieved for the opportunity to change the subject to that of which shops he enjoyed, though she was curious to know what he had not shared.

Her sisters needed minding, and though neither Mr Denny nor Mr Wickham seemed troubled by their high-spirited silliness, Elizabeth did wish they might temper their behaviour.

The girls darted into Leary’s Haberdasher, and Elizabeth followed.

The men entered, as well, but after a few moments of Kitty and Lydia arguing over ribbons and lace, Mr Denny suggested the men go to the tobacconist.

“You go,” said Mr Wickham. “I shall remain with these lovely ladies.”

Elizabeth suspected he chose to stay to be near her, and heat rose in her cheeks.

While her sisters bickered over the wares in the shop, Elizabeth and Mr Wickham spoke of his travels about England, and she shared her desire to see the Lakes.

All the while, her sisters tugged at bits and bobs, and argued over who had more money and whose turn it was to pay.

Mr Wickham stepped in and offered to purchase one ribbon each.

“No,” said Elizabeth. “Girls, it is not proper.” She ought not need to explain to any of them that accepting a gift would be equivalent to an engagement.

“Lizzy,” whined Lydia, “you are too concerned with what is proper.”

Elizabeth wished to reprimand Lydia with “And you are not concerned enough,” but that would be, well, improper, as well! What was she to do to manage these girls?

Elizabeth said, “I think?—”

Lydia held out a red ribbon, much the colour of Mr Wickham’s coat, and placed it in Mr Wickham’s open palm. “This one, sir, if you please.”

And Kitty handed him a white one. “And for me.”

The girls fell into each other giggling, and Mr Wickham bowed, walking towards the shopkeeper to pay. On his way, he took hold of a deep green ribbon and said, “It complements your dark eyes, Miss Bennet. It would be a shame not to let me procure it for you.”

Elizabeth shook her head, too filled with rage at her sisters to speak, and troubled by Mr Wickham’s lack of propriety.

“It need not mean a thing,” he said, as if reading her mind.

She shook her head again, but feared what he might think of her refusal. Why did she care so much about his opinion?

As they exited the shop, they were greeted by Mr Denny, who held a pouch of loose tobacco, accompanied by her aunt and uncle Philips.

“Good afternoon, my dear nieces!” Aunt Philips cried out.

The younger girls hurried over, bursting with news of Mr Wickham’s gifts, and more than one passer-by turned a head towards the commotion.

“My, my, my, what generosity, Mr Wickham!” Aunt Philips exclaimed. “Lizzy, were you given something as well?”

She shook her head, feeling her temples throb. Even her aunt would not help in reining in her young sisters!

Her aunt asked, “So, Lizzy, you and our dear new friend Mr Wickham are getting acquainted, I see?”

Elizabeth braced herself for what she knew would occur: her aunt would spread this news to her friends, as she did with every titbit that came near her, and insinuate things about their attraction and future together. Elizabeth loved her aunt and uncle, but did wish they might keep their counsel.

“Mr Wickham,” Aunt Philips said, drawing out his name and making it sound untoward, somehow, “what a gesture, and you only having just met my nieces. My unmarried nieces.” At this she snickered, and Mr Wickham looked at Elizabeth with a shrug.

It seemed he had already become acquainted enough with her aunt and uncle not to be offended or too concerned by their prodding and gossip. This put him in an even better light.

Uncle Philips laughed heartily, his naturally ruddy face turning redder. “My dear, you must refrain from your matchmaking.”

“What is the fun in that?”

They both guffawed.

Elizabeth’s eyes flicked to Mr Wickham to see how he was judging this exchange, and was happily met by another of his warm smiles. A man not put off by the prospect of matchmaking or meddling relatives? Well, he was surprising.

Aunt Philips said, “Mr Denny, Mr Wickham, you must come to our home for tea along with our nieces.”

Though Elizabeth was pleased by the prospect, she did not leap for joy as her young sisters did.

“Unfortunately, we cannot,” Mr Denny said. “We must return to our duties.”

“Then you name the day and we shall welcome you with open arms,” said Uncle Philips.

The men conferred, and Monday was declared the date of choice.

Elizabeth knew the moments would drag until that appointed time.