PROLOGUE
Elizabeth Bennet was five years old the first time she fell in love.
His name was Jackson. A giant, black plough horse whose great hooves thudded against the packed earth of the lane behind Longbourn’s stables. One ride was all it took to win Elizabeth’s heart.
Astride, Jane wound her small hands in the coarse mane. Elizabeth clung to her older sister’s waist, her cheek pressed against Jane’s shoulder blade, while the horse’s gait sent tremors through her entire body as they bounced down the dirt road. Wind caught her loose hair and sent it streaming behind her like a banner. The hedgerows blurred into ribbons of green on either side of the lane. The sky above seemed wider, bluer than it ever had from the ground.
Elizabeth’s heart soared, keeping rhythm with the steady hoofbeats. She tightened her grip on Jane and closed her eyes, feeling motion and freedom and joy.
“Faster, Jane!” she called, her voice bright with laughter.
“He will not go faster,” replied seven-year-old Jane. Elizabeth could hear the smile in her voice.
Elizabeth kicked her heels into the horse’s side. “Faster! Faster! Faster!”
The horse rounded the bend near the kitchen gardens, and Elizabeth opened her eyes to see Mr. Barton, Longbourn’s steward, step into the middle of the lane. His face was red, his expression thunderous.
“Whoa!” he shouted, seizing the horse’s bridle with both hands. The animal stopped so abruptly that Elizabeth nearly tumbled over the top of Jane. Only her sister’s quick hand, reaching to steady her, kept her in place.
“What do you think you are doing?” Mr. Barton demanded.
“We were only—” Elizabeth began.
Mr. Barton cut her off with a gesture. “Jacob!” he called over his shoulder. “Jacob, come here at once.”
The groom appeared from the stable yard, his cap in his hands, his expression neutral. Guilt twisted Elizabeth’s stomach. They had waited until the groom was cleaning the back boxes, then climbed the fence Jackson leant against to settle themselves on his back.
“Get them down,” Mr. Barton ordered. “Young ladies, the stables are dangerous, and these animals are here to work, not to amuse children who ought to know better. You know your father’s orders.”
Jacob lifted Jane down first, then reached up for Elizabeth. She slid into his arms, her face burning with indignation. The ground was hard and unyielding beneath her feet after the gentle sway of the horse.
“My apologies, Miss Lizzy,” Jacob muttered, so quietly that only she could hear. “I did not see you?—”
“It’s not your fault,” Elizabeth mumbled, but Mr. Barton shooed the sisters toward the house, his hands flapping as though they were wayward poultry.
Jane took Elizabeth’s hand as they walked. Elizabeth fought the urge to burst into Papa’s study and make him tell Mr. Barton to let them ride. Shewantedto demand it. Wanted to stamp her foot and insist it was unfair. But her beloved Aunt Gardiner’s voice echoed in her head:Young ladies do not create a disturbance, Lizzy.
So, she walked when she wanted to run—and remained silent when she wanted to shout. She blinked hard against the angry tears that burned behind her eyes. One escaped anyway, sliding down her cheek in hot disobedience as they crossed the threshold.
Mr. Thomas Bennet sat behind his desk, his reading spectacles perched on his nose, a volume of Latin open before him. He did not look angry, which Elizabeth took as a good sign. Neither did he look pleased at the interruption.
“Tears, Lizzy?” His brows rose.
“Mr. Barton made us stop, Papa.” She swiped the moisture from her cheeks.
He set his book aside. “Ah, I could not imagine they were tears of regret for doing something you knew you should not.”
“I wanted to ride for ever so long,” Elizabeth announced. “Jane only went along because I begged her.”
Her father’s mouth twitched, though whether with amusement or disapproval, Elizabeth could not tell. “I see. And did you enjoy your ride?”
“Oh yes, Papa!” The words spilled from her before Elizabeth could stop them. “It was everything wonderful. I felt as though I were flying. Could we have a horse of our own? Just one? Jane and I could share, and we would take such good care of it. We promise.”
“Lizzy.” Her father’s voice held a gentle warning. “The horses we keep at Longbourn are for the farm, our estate. They plough the fields and pull the carts and our carriage. We do not have horses for riding about the countryside.”
“But Papa?—”
“There is no money for a riding horse,” her father continued. “There are five of you girls to feed and clothe. Your mother has expenses, and I have my books. A horse is a luxury we cannot afford.”
