Chapter One
October 25, 1811
Longbourn
Elizabeth
“Giveitback,Lydia!I know you took it!”
Catherine Bennet—called Kitty by all who knew her—charged down the long hallway of the family wing, the frills of her day dress fluttering behind her like a distressed banner. Her cheeks were red, not merely with exertion but from tears that streamed freely, unchecked. Her voice cracked with frustration, and her eyes shimmered with fury and hurt.
“I did not take your stupid locket,” Lydia Bennet snapped, her tone imperious despite the flush of guilt—or was it indignation?—on her youthful face. She ducked beneath Kitty’s reaching hand and darted towards the threshold of her own chamber.
In herhaste and preoccupation, Lydia never noticed Elizabeth stepping from her bedchamber into the hallway. The two collided with a thud. Elizabeth stumbled but kept her footing, catching Lydia by the shoulders to steady them both.
“Lydia! Kitty!” Elizabeth’s sharp voice cut through the clamor like a well-honed blade. “What on earth is the meaning of this behavior? Dashing about like unruly children—have you lost all decorum?”
Kitty halted, fists clenched and chest heaving with sobs. “Shestole my locket!” she cried. “The one Aunt Gardiner brought me from London! I know she took it—I just know it! She’s probably hidden it somewhere and will wait a fortnight to wear it and claim it was always hers.”
Lydia, ever quick to defend herself and twice as quick to go on the offensive, drew herself up in indignation. “I did not take your horrid little trinket! It is hideous and plain—I would sooner wear Papa’s cravat to church than that dull chain around my neck.”
Elizabeth arched a brow. “You did not say so when it was gifted. If I remember correctly, you voiced a very public complaint about only receiving a painted fan, one which you promptly snapped in half during a tantrum.”
“I was angry because Aunt Gardiner did not favor me similarly,” Lydia said, her chin lifting stubbornly. “She gives Kitty something dainty and leaves me with scraps!”
Kitty’s arms crossed tightly over her chest, her voice low and bitter. “It is always this way. If anything goes missing, no matter how small, Lydia denies it and blames someone else, and Mama believes her without question. She could walk in wearing my locket and claim it fell from the sky, and Mama would nod in agreement.”
Lydia stomped her foot, cheeks burning now with full-fledged outrage. “I amalwaysblamed! For Kitty’s lost handkerchiefs, for your bonnet—” she turned to Elizabeth, her eyes wide and desperate—“even for things I have not touched!”
Elizabeth’s gaze softened slightly. “You took my bonnet just last week, dearest. Let us not rewrite history.”
“But I told you the truth about that!” Lydia exclaimed, her tone pleading now. “I wore it out and returned it. And I did not lie. I only—borrowed it. I did not claim it as my own. Not this time.”
Elizabeth hesitated. Lydia’s brown eyes, wide and shimmering with conviction, met hers unflinchingly. The younger girl was many things—reckless, vain, thoughtless—but rarely deceptive when directly confronted. If she had taken the locket, she would likely haveboasted of it or come up with some flamboyant excuse. And despite her theatrics, there was a flicker of something genuine in her protest now.
“It is not me you must convince,” Elizabeth said after a long pause. Her voice was firm, but not without sympathy. “Kitty, if you feel a wrong has been done to you, then go speak to Papa about it. Perhaps he can sort the matter more peacefully than this shrieking through the halls.”
Kitty gave a sharp sob, one hand wiping at her eyes, and stormed off with wounded pride. Lydia followed, slower, but no less irritated, muttering her innocence and flinging one final glare towards her sister. The door to their shared chamber closed with a bang, muffling the continued squabble within.
Elizabeth let out a weary sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose. Another day, another tempest between her two youngest sisters. She leaned briefly against the wall, letting the silence fall once more over the hallway. It had become second nature to arbitrate their constant disputes, but even she felt the burden of it lately.
She cast one final glance towards the now-quiet corridor. Lydia’s protest had seemed unusually sincere. And the child was no stranger to mischief, but when she claimed something as her own, she did not hesitate to lord it over the wounded party—she did not deny it.
Perhaps Kitty misplaced the locket herself,Elizabeth reasoned. The girl was always tossing things onto her vanity or shoving trinkets into drawers. Still, the matter sat uneasily in her mind.
With a breath meant to clear her thoughts, she descended the stairs, bonnet tied and cloak fastened. The crisp October air would do her good—perhaps even grant her the clarity that domestic chaos could not.
She stepped out of Longbourn’s front door into the golden light of morning, unaware that the missing locket was merely the first of many odd disturbances to come.
She had much on her mind of late and wished to brood in silence. The Meryton assembly had been nearly two before. What a marvelous night spoiled by the pretentious insults of Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. She despised the man! Jane urged her to forgive, rightly pointing out that Elizabeth had never even had a conversation with the gentleman. But she could not forget his comments, how he called her tolerable and not handsome enough to tempt him.
The memory caused Elizabeth pain every time she relived it. Mr. Darcy and his words had appeared in her dreams every night since, and she wished she had the ability to banish all of it—and him—from her thoughts. Unfortunately, she often mulled over troubling things until her equanimity returned and she could let go of heranger. Elizabeth’s need to repeatedly discuss her troubled emotions wearied others. Jane was patient with the propensity, however; thus, this was the reason she was Elizabeth’s primary confidant.
She had seen him but rarely since then.
Her steps took her up the gentle slope towards the summit of Oakham Mount. It was her favorite spot within walking distance of Longbourn, and she came as often as she could. The climb provided plenty to see and sufficient exercise to calm her agitated soul. Today was no different. As she neared the summit, Elizabeth’s anticipation continued to build. She would find her favorite log, which was situated beneath two towering oaks, and—
As she crested the summit, she froze. There was someone in the little clearing. The figure turned upon hearing her approach, and Elizabeth was displeased to see it was none other than Mr. Darcy. She frowned briefly before pasting an amiable smile on her face.
