Prologue
Wednesday 16 December1812
Godmersham Park,
Canterbury
Miss Jane Austen walked the lane from Godmersham Park to the village. She had spent the early morning writing – or rather attempting to write – as she usually did, and then enjoyed breaking her fast with her family. She was now on her way to visit the vicar’s wife, and to see if her new cap was ready at the milliner’s; she wished to wear it tonight at the dinner her brother arranged to celebrate her thirty-seventh birthday. It was to be a private family dinner since Jane no longer cared to be public about her age. She looked forward to the evening and would do Edward the compliment of looking her very best.
When she returned to Godmersham Park, she would seek out Cassandra and bid her to do something more leisurely and fun besides helping with the children and Edward’s household. The sisters were in Canterbury with their mother to visit Edward’s family for the festive season, and Jane’s elder sister Cassandra was an industrious woman who was always helping or taking care of someone.
Jane thought about the story she was writing–Mansfield Park–and her difficulty this morning. Moving houses always disrupted her thinking, but it had been over a week since they arrived in Canterbury, and she was no closer to finishing the chapter she was working on since the day they left Chawton. Her current hero lacked the romantic appeal of her last, she mused as she enjoyed the bright sunshine on her face. She wondered if she would ever surpass Mr Darcy, who was lauded amongst those who had readPride and Prejudiceas the most divine hero ever to grace the page.
She veered off of the lane onto a small path leading to a local place of interest; the wishing well?1. A mere hole in the ground, the well was fed from an underground spring, and locals from miles around visited often, throwing in pins or coins for the spirit that resided within the well. Jane had come with Cassandra and the children many times. Once in a great while, she came just for herself alone.
She approached the spring quite by herself and pulled out a coin. What did she wish for? To write with ease tomorrow? To write a hero that would put even Mr Darcy to shame? Was it possible? Or did she wish for something more? The thought stopped her; more what? For once in her life she felt she did not know.
“I wish forsomething morethis festive season,” Jane whispered as she tossed her coin into the bubbling water. She turned, and began to walk back the way she came as she pondered the last few minutes. She wondered if she had wasted a wish of special significance–her birthday wish–or if something specialmighthappen.Andshe had spent money–a minuscule sum–but still, she usually only threw in a hairpin. Well; if she awoke tomorrow morning and wrote with ease, she would be grateful even for only that. When she told dear Cassandra about her whimsy later, her sister would surely call her a goose.
As she returned to the lane, a saddled, but unfamiliar horse thundered by without a rider, having obviously thrown the poor person. All Jane could think as she fell backwards from the path as the horse careened past was that she hoped the rider was unharmed.Could this horse belong to one of her nephews? Her panicked thought was cut short as her body was thrown backwards into a nearby stone wall by the horse’s flight. Everything turned white as her head struck hard rock, and she submitted to unconsciousness.
“Madam, madam, are you well? Can you hear me? Oh,pleasewake up!” Jane heard a feminine voice call out. Could the rider have been a woman? She could not recall if there had been a side saddle on the horse. She opened her eyes and saw a pretty young woman with dark chestnut curls and warm brown eyes above her.
“Is she dead?” asked another, obviously younger female voice from nearby.
“Are you certain it is safe? Have you ever seen her before, Lizzy?” asked another.
“Of course it is safe, Lydia! Do you see anyone else nearby? I cannot think who she might be,” said the first voice. “We are closer to Longbourn, but I think Jane’s household at Netherfield would be a better choice for welcoming an injured stranger. Our mother’s nerves might not be equal to the task today; she is too affected by our cousin’s upcoming visit to Meryton, and she was anxious about it at breakfast. Kitty, Charles is on the eastern border today, doing some work on the stile with Mr Kennedy. Run there as fast as you can, ask him to send help and a cart to move this lady.”
“Wha- who?” Jane attempted to ask as she blinked. The bright sunshine hurt her eyes, and the pain was blinding. She could hardly think at all. Had there been a carriage as well? How many womenwere there?Did someone sayLongbourn?
“Oh, thank the Lord!” a young woman exclaimed as she saw Jane coming to. “I am Miss Elizabeth Bennet, madam. Can you tell me your name?” the young woman asked.
Elizabeth Bennet? Was she delirious? “Miss Jane-,” Jane tried, before a wave of nausea and pain in her injured head overtook her.
“Miss Jane? Miss Jane-what?” Miss Elizabeth asked insistently, butMiss Janehad already slipped back into unconsciousness.
When she woke again, she was indoors, on a very comfortable bed, and she had been changed and bathed. Jane kept her eyes closed, for the light from the window pained her. Two feminine voices spoke from across the room.
“All she said wasMiss Jane?” said a very gentle female voice.
“Those were the only words that she spoke before she fainted, Jane,” answered the female voice from before, the one who had claimed to be Miss Elizabeth Bennet. “I thought you and Charles would manage a strange invalid much better than our mother.”
“I suppose you are right. Charles wishes to show her every courtesy,” said the other woman. Could this possibly be Miss Caroline Bingley? No, Miss Bennet had called the woman Jane. She specifically mentionedJane’s household at Netherfieldbefore. That would make Jane Mrs Bingley. But if Jane was Mrs Bingley, should not Elizabeth be Mrs Darcy, and not Miss Elizabeth Bennet?
They were to be married the same day. What has happened to my story?she wondered, recalling that Lydia had also been there when she was found. Should not Mrs Wickham be in Newcastle?Something has gone wrong,she thought as the pain pierced her head again, and she slipped once more into unconsciousness.
1 The wishing well at Godmersham Park is a fictional creation for the purposes of this story.
Chapter One
Jane sensedthat it had been some hours when she woke again. The young woman who had found her was beside her bed in a brown walking dress, reading silently. Jane watched her quietly for a moment before alerting the lady to Jane’s new situation of wakefulness. If this was Miss Elizabeth Bennet, Jane could not wait to see Mrs Jane Bingley, for how could anyone be more beautiful than this stunningly pretty young creature? The young woman’s eyes were shadowed; her face showed signs of anxiety. Had the young lady stayed up all night tending her? Of course, Elizabeth Bennet would certainly have done so.
Stop it,she admonished herself sternly.Of course this is not Elizabeth Bennet. You were dreaming.
Where could she possibly be? She had been at least a mile and a half from anything but Godmersham Park and some tenant cottages when she fell. This was no tenant cottage. This was a generously sized guest room in what appeared–just from what she saw from the bed–to be a grand house.
It was time for some answers. Jane lightly cleared her throat, and the young woman with the glossy chestnut curls looked up with bright, intelligent eyes.
