Prologue
September1798
Longbourn, Hertfordshire
“Come sit by me, Elizabeth.”
“Yes, Granny.”
At seven years of age, Elizabeth was a precocious little thing with curling brown hair and bright, sparkling eyes.Cora Bennet smiled at her great-granddaughter and leaned down to whisper in her ear.
“Have you had any interesting dreams of late?”
Elizabeth scrunched up her face in thought.“I dreamt I fell into Mr.Wallace’s pond and got all wet.”
“Hmm.Perhaps I shall ask your father to teach you to swim,” she said absently.“Best be careful around that pond in future.Anything else?”
“No, I do not think so.Have you had any interesting dreams, Granny?”
“As a matter of fact, I have.I had a dream about you.”
Elizabeth’s eyes lit up.“What was I doing?”
“You were preparing for your coming out.You were very beautiful.Though your dress had entirely too much lace.”
Elizabeth wrinkled her nose.“I do not like lace on my dresses.It itches.”
“That it does.”Cora smiled.She did not tell her granddaughter that in the dream, Elizabeth looked full young to be coming out and had not been pleased at all.Anxiety was written all over Elizabeth’s face as Mrs.Bennet clucked about her daughter, claiming she would never be as beautiful as Jane, but she should make the most of what attractions she possessed.A stranger would not have recognized it, but Cora saw the hurt in young Elizabeth’s eyes.
“I want you to remember something for me, child.”
“What is that?”
“Remember that you are beautiful, every bit as lovely as Jane in your own way, and do not allow anyone to sway your opinion on that.”
Elizabeth looked at her grandmother in confusion.She was more interested in running outside than looking pretty.“Very well, Granny.”
“Have you written in your journal lately?”
Elizabeth sighed.Her great-grandmother had given her a journal for her seventh birthday and told her to use it to write her dreams in, as well as interesting conversations she had with her great-grandmother.She had yet to crack the binding.She had mastered reading, but her penmanship was atrocious, and writing was so tedious.She had not taken the trouble to work on it.
Cora Bennet looked at her sternly.“Elizabeth, you must write more, or you shall never improve.Go and fetch your paper.You may practice your letters at my desk, then we will write an entry in your journal together.”
Elizabeth sighed and did as she was told, though she did not like it.
At least once per fortnight, Cora Bennet would bring Elizabeth into her private parlor and ask her the same questions.Had she had any interesting dreams lately?Had she been writing in her journal?Had she practiced her letters?
Eventually, Elizabeth realized she would not get out of the task and decided that having a fair hand would be a useful thing, and so she put her considerable determination into mastering the art of handwriting.Progress was slow, but soon she was writing notes to her friends at neighboring estates and making journal entries about the things her great-grandmother told her.
“I had a dream about you last night,” said Cora one spring day in 1800.
“Oh?What was I doing?”Elizabeth answered the same way she always did.
“You were dancing at a ball.You were very talented and hardly sat out a set.All the gentlemen wished to dance with you.”
Elizabeth smiled.“I like to dance.”
“I know, child.And you have a considerable gift for it.”
