Darcy got up from his desk chair and paced like a trapped animal, raking his hands through his hair and growling under his breath. “You fool!”
What would his aunts say? They would be furious to know that he had let Georgiana out of his sight. They would be worried about the reputation of the family, of course. But they both loved Georgiana and would be more worried about her welfare. At least the countess would. His other aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, would have much more to say. She would most certainly be more judgmental than any of the rest of the family.
Suddenly exhausted, he stopped his pacing and sank back into the chair. He felt exhausted, as if all the life was draining away from him at the knowledge that his beloved sister was lost to him forever.
Darcy felt the crushing weight of guilty failure pressing down on him. His father had always been proud of him, had told him he was a good son and worthy heir. Before he died, he had handed over the responsibility of protecting Georgiana and Pemberley, the two great treasures of his life, without the slightest hesitation. His father had been certain Darcy was up to the task.
How utterly wrong he had been!
Chapter 2
Elizabeth Bennet sighed contentedly as she finished her book and closed it with a satisfying thud. She held it close to her chest as she walked back toward Longbourn. At the top of a low hill, she stopped for a moment, looking down on her family home. Longbourn sat nestled among the trees, the brick face lit by the golden light of the setting sun.
She could hear her sister playing the pianoforte, the music floating to her over the little stream that separated her from her home. That was surely Mary, the only sister other than Elizabeth herself who played.
Not yet ready to go in, Elizabeth walked dreamily to the centre of the bridge that crossed over the narrow stream, taking in the beauty of the autumn evening. The wind had picked up as she had finished her long walk, making the branches of the trees wave about as if they were frantically greeting each other. Their leaves had already turned into a riot of scarlet and gold, vivid against the bright blue sky.
It was a lovely time of year — Elizabeth’s favourite. The air, though beginning to have a crisp bite, was still warm enoughto spend a great deal of time outdoors. That was welcome not only for Elizabeth’s enjoyment of long walks amid the beauty of nature, but also as a respite from Mrs Bennet’s lectures and hysterics. As one of five daughters, their mother constantly worried over their futures. How many times had Mrs Bennet repeated that at least one of them would have to marry well and save the family from ruin? The number was surely beyond counting.
Longbourn would one day go to a man she had never met; since the property had been entailed along the male line, it was judged better that her father’s cousin should have the property, however little it left for his wife and daughters.
As she neared the house, Mary began playing more frantically, the notes piling up on each other in growing confusion as she sought to play beyond her ability. Elizabeth felt a moment of pity for the instrument. Mary was not unskilled — not exactly. She certainly had application. But the results might have been more pleasing if she would only pay more attention to enjoying the music she produced, and less to scrutinising every note on the page.
Elizabeth entered Longbourn as the last rays of sunshine fell upon the house. She was met by Lydia and Kitty, running wild through the front hall and giggling loudly — by no means an uncommon sight or sound at Longbourn. Her two youngest sisters waved, but did not bother to stop and greet her, seemingly too busy on some mysterious errand of their own.
It was left to the eldest of the Bennet girls to give Elizabeth a more civil welcome. Jane smiled tolerantly at their younger sisters’ behaviour as she greeted Elizabeth at the door.
“What is it this time?” Elizabeth asked with a laugh, taking off her shawl to hang on the worn bronze hook that had hung in the entrance for more years than she could remember.
“There are rumours of a new gentleman who has come to town. But no one has been able to find out anything about him,” Jane explained. “Mama is determined to find out who he is, what he has to spend a year, and how long he might be expected to stay among us.”
Elizabeth and Jane went upstairs to their shared bedroom to change for supper, taking the question of the mystery man who was to come to the neighbourhood with them. “Mama will be insufferable until we find out who this gentleman is. Are you prepared to go down to supper tonight? Or shall I have a tray sent up for you?” Elizabeth asked laughingly.
“Nonsense, Lizzy. I will not hide away in our room whenever a new gentleman comes to town. I would be forever locked in this room as though I were one of your damsels in distress who had been banished to a tower,” Jane teased gently. “Speaking of your damsels in distress, how did your book end?”
Elizabeth sighed and sat down in front of the vanity mirror at Jane’s insistent gesture. Her sister began arranging her hair into a simple bun, as it had been blown out of the ribbon during her long walk that afternoon. “It was wonderful. The heroine was rescued, and they lived happily ever after.” She sighed. “I know that life rarely works out the way we hope, but I would be happy to meet a man who loved me as he loved her, ready to give up his life to save her.”
“Sometimes life surprises you. I know not everyone can marry for love. But I would like to think that we may be sofortunate.” Jane finished tucking the stray locks of hair into her bun, then touched her shoulder as she finished.
They changed places, and Elizabeth smoothed her sister’s hair in turn, though it was hardly necessary. Jane was too sensible to walk outside for hours on end and let the wind blow her hair into disarray. She spent most of her time helping Mrs Bennet see that everything at Longbourn went smoothly — or rather, as Jane was already considerably more sensible and even-tempered than her mother, doing much of it herself. As the eldest sister, she was expected to marry first, and had been trained in the arts of running a home. Mrs Bennet was determined that she would be the mistress of a grand estate, married to a wealthy man who would save them from being banished to the hedgerows on the dreadful day, hopefully far in the future, when Mr Bennet passed away and their cousin inherited all.
Jane stood as Elizabeth finished. “Thank you, Lizzy. Shall we go down?”
They went down to the dining room. As they approached, Elizabeth smiled in private amusement: even from the stairs, she could hear her family was already gathered in the dining room, chattering excitedly while they waited for Jane and Elizabeth to join them. The Bennets were sometimes lacking in refinement, perhaps, but never in liveliness or warmth.
Elizabeth took her place at the long table, glad that a fire had been laid. The evening was chilly, thanks to the rain clouds that had moved in at sunset. Even now she could hear the rain beating down upon the roof. She loved the music that it made on the roof tiles.
“Ah, there you are, Lizzy. I was afraid you would be caught in the storm if you stayed out much longer. It is a wonder that you can walk for such long periods of time. If you would stay indoors more often, you would not have such a lanky figure,” her mother chided.
Mrs Bennet had never been shy in expressing her wish that Elizabeth would stay indoors, or make morning and afternoon calls every day in search of a husband. That there were, in fact, very few eligible young men in the neighbourhood made Elizabeth doubt the usefulness of this tactic, but did not seem to have occurred to her mother. “I enjoy walking, Mama. I do not think there is anything I can do about my lanky figure. Any man who wishes to court me must simply resign himself to going on long walks with his wife.”
“Your hems are always caked in mud every time you come home from one of your treks through the woods. I do wish you would stay closer to home and not go traipsing through puddles. It gives our poor Betsy an awful inconvenience in laundering your dresses.”
“I do not always come home with my hems caked in mud,” Elizabeth protested. She glanced at her father, whose amused expression clearly said he would not rebuke her for taking her long walks. Indeed, he had always encouraged her to seek her exercise out of doors. He too enjoyed being outside, searching for interesting plants and insects to add to his collections.
Jane gave her a gentle smile. From her quiet sister, Elizabeth could easily interpret the expression. And indeed, Jane was right. She ought not to argue with their parents, not when it could be avoided, and ought to think of the work she made for Betsy.
“I mean to say, I shall take greater care,” Elizabeth amended. “You are quite right, Mother. I should not wish to make more work. But I am afraid I cannot promise to stay away from the woods entirely. They are simply too lovely at this time of year, with the leaves turning colours and —”
