Prologue

L ongbourn, Hertfordshire

Elizabeth Bennet had always been a trial for her mother's nerves. Since before her birth, her desire to move and explore made her mother's growing womb a veritable pitch and roll of flesh. Elizabeth conquered any obstacle that confronted her, eager to find what was beyond. Perhaps one day, she would find what was at the very ends of the earth.

"Sit still, child! My head ails me so. You could do a far sight worse than to be more like your sister over there. Observe how Jane quietly works her sampler? Where is your sampler? Your needle? Your thimble? Lord, child!"

Elizabeth paused long enough in her imaginings to glance at Jane who was tucked very discreetly into the corner of the window bench. She could not help but smile at her sweet sister who, in her effort to remain steady on the stitches she was executing, did not even raise her head during the all-too-common commotion of Mrs Bennet fussing at Elizabeth. Returning her concentration to the perilous task at hand, Elizabeth made a flying leap from the sofa to the chair that was her father's favourite. The ancient piece of furniture creaked menacingly, tilted onto two legs for just a moment, and then settled back down to the floor with a heavy bump to its original, beloved spot from whence it had hardly been moved for nigh on ten years.

"Lizzy! For goodness' sake, have a care for my nerves," Mrs Bennet declared.

"But, Mama, how am I to leap over lava when I am an explorer if I do not practise?" She pointed at the burgundy and black rug that covered the wooden floor. Elizabeth regarded worn spots as the areas that contained the most deadly lava of all.

Mrs Bennet leaned her head back and covered her eyes with the handkerchief in one hand. The other hand cradled her round belly. Mary looked up from her book, her owlish eyes darting from her sister Elizabeth, then back to her mother, before her gaze returned to the fairy tales before her. Little Kit Kit was asleep under the table of the drawing room, taking one of her many naps.

Mrs Bennet sobbed into her handkerchief in an unconvincing moan. "It is well that your little brother will be here soon so that he will be able to keep you in some sort of order, child."

"Brother? But I want another sister, Mama. A brother will spoil all the fun by telling me what I ought and ought not to be doing. No! I am Cassandra Cackle, the wickedest pirate queen to ever sail the sea."

"Oh, where do you conceive of such notions? It is from your father, I am certain. I have no idea what will become of you, Elizabeth. You have none of the sweet beauty Jane has. And Mary is so studious in tales and sermons."

"I am more interested in why the lava is so very hot than being sweet. I shall leave such behaviour to Jane. Answers are what I want. How high did Icarus have to fly to have the wax of his wings melted by the heat of the sun? How many times can water freeze and thaw and freeze again? A hundred? Is there no limit?"

"Elizabeth," Mrs Bennet cried in despair, "you are causing the baby to kick me viciously. Questions make the mind of a young lady too pert to appeal to men of wealth. Keep your tongue still and your breath to cool your porridge."

"I do not like porridge. And if wealthy men do not like me, then I want no part of them." Elizabeth crossed her arms and dropped to her bottom with a thud into her father's chair. "I shall take care of myself. I need no man or brother to come to my rescue."

Patting her stomach and glaring at her daughter, Mrs Bennet snapped back with an exasperated account of the ways in which a husband cares for his wife. "A husband provides the necessities in life, child. There are many things you do not take into account. The food on your table—"

"I can fish! Papa taught me. And, like the hare under the stone wall, I will steal my food at night by secret visits to kitchen gardens."

"And the clothes you wear—"

"I have the sweetest sister who is clever with a needle and can mend the clothes I wear," Elizabeth said as she winked at Jane who had paused in her work. The elder sister shook her head mildly at Elizabeth and resumed her stitching with an amused smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

"And your standing in society…"

"I believe the jackdaw and the squirrel like me. I find their talk more diverting than what I have heard so far when in company with our neighbours. In the society of the animals, I will be looked on with respect."

"You drive me to distraction. It is fortunate that your brother will be born soon and can inherit Longbourn when your father dies. For if we had another daughter, I am sure that my hair would fall out from worry."

Any mention of the untimely passing of her father had a heavy, sombre effect on Elizabeth. She frowned and tugged repeatedly at a lock of hair that was always loose and always accommodating for the anxious energy of a lively child.

"You are but six years old, Lizzy. You have no conception of what it means to be a woman in the world who must make her own way. But, you will have others to tend to you. Jane is so beautiful—" Elizabeth rolled her eyes upward at hearing this common refrain. "—that she is certain to make a good match. I have no doubt of it, though she is but eight years of age."

"My birthday is so soon, you may as well say that I am seven," Elizabeth added with a sulky defiance in her tone.

"It is a shame that a sharp tongue can do no good for a woman, for if it could, you would be well set up in life."

"But your tongue is sharp, Mama!"

"That may be so, but I knew the value of holding it so that I could catch an eligible man. You have no such good sense. Therefore, it will fall to your little brother or Jane to care for a hopeless case such as you."

Elizabeth groaned and pressed a pillow over her face. A curiosity to know more of this yet-to-be-seen, perfect little brother overcame her.

"And what will be his name, Mama?"

With a warm smile at her swelling stomach, Mrs Bennet said, "Your father is adamant that his name should be Lysander. It is Roman, or Spanish, or something like that."

"Greek, my dear. It is Greek," Mr Bennet said as he entered the room and scooped Lizzy up out of his chair with a growling chuckle. Elizabeth squealed so loud with delight that Kitty awoke with a whimper and rubbed her eyes.

"Hush with the rough play, Mr Bennet. You have awoken the baby!"

Kitty rose with a wobble and bumped her head on the underside of the table. Her startled wail calmed when Jane ran over to embrace her and whisper soothing words into her little sister's ear.

"It has been a long arrangement between myself and your mother," Mr Bennet explained to Elizabeth as he settled her on his lap. "I am to name the boys, she names the girls. If you had been a boy, your name would have been Ellwood." He tapped the end of her nose with the tip of his finger and a warm smile.

"Ellwood? Thank goodness I am a girl!"

"Yes." Mr Bennet smiled down at her. "Thank goodness."

"And Jane?"

"Would have been James. Mary would have been Marcus. And Kitty would have been Kenneth."

Elizabeth yawned and leaned her head on her father's chest. Her eyes drifted shut as she imagined herself and her three sisters as boys. "Perhaps little Lysander will not be so terrible after all."

Lysander was not destined to be. In his place, Lydia greeted the world with a boisterous bellow that frightened the birds in the trees into flight. Mrs Bennet was distraught and conveyed to any who had the patience to listen how hopeless she was that a male heir to Longbourn would ever be conceived.

Her foul mood took focus upon Elizabeth in a most particular and cutting way. "It is all your doing! Lizzy, you brought this ruin upon your family by your declarations of wanting another sister. Another girl. Another? What is to become of us? Who needs five daughters? What use is it to anyone to have five daughters!"

Mrs Hill did her best to comfort and soothe her mistress who was in the throes of fluctuating humours that sometimes followed the birth of a child. Elizabeth observed Mrs Hill shake her head as she exited Mrs Bennet's bedchamber.

"I will fix a cup of mint and chamomile tea, madam. That will cheer you up. The mint will strengthen your blood, and the chamomile will cool your nerves."

"I do not need tea, I need a son! And if little Lizzy had not said what she did, I would be bouncing one upon my knee at this very moment. Ungrateful, wild child. She will be our ruin, our utter ruin," Mrs Bennet screeched.

Elizabeth was concealing herself in a doorway in the hall and overheard some of the worst vitriol that her mother had ever spit at her.

Mr Bennet came up the stairs. He paused Hill with a hand on the arm and made a drinking motion with his other hand. "Perhaps you could make that tea a little stronger than you usually would? For her nerves, you know."

"Yes, sir. Of course," Hill said with a conspiratorial wink at Mr Bennet. All that could be heard from Mrs Bennet's chamber were some petulant laments. The two left, and Elizabeth rushed to her own room and closed the door. From under one corner of her mattress, she pulled a precious booklet and a nub of graphite.

Without anyone the wiser, Elizabeth slipped out of the front door and ran far out to the very edges of the westernmost corner of the Longbourn estate. To her, it seemed another world away, though it was just a little under a mile to Oakham Mount. Her six-year-old legs pumped furiously as she dashed up the high hill that gave the viewer a grand vista to behold.

Elizabeth could see the distant chimney of Lucas Lodge, the home of her friend, Charlotte Lucas. Though thirteen years of age and preparing to come out within a few years, Charlotte had taken a sort of maternal liking to the precocious Elizabeth. Despite their age difference, Charlotte seemed to genuinely enjoy conversation with her young neighbour. Their chats were anticipated by both young ladies.

Elizabeth kicked at a heavy log repeatedly, giving vent to some of her ire at being unjustly accused of having ruined the chances of a male heir to Longbourn. The weighty length of wood moved, and her little feet kept shoving and working at it. Finally, it rolled down the hill with a rhythmic thumping.

With satisfaction, Elizabeth watched it plummet and settle behind a clump of tall grass. Her gaze returned up to the chimney of her friend's house. She contemplated making the long journey to Lucas Lodge where she knew a sympathetic ear awaited her. To her mind, an independent girl who possessed quick legs and a clever mind could manage the journey very well. But it was a mighty leap between being a minor rascal who scampered off to the edge of Longbourn and a truly naughty child who ran all the way to a neighbour's house. Elizabeth paced back and forth and had almost decided to make the voyage when her stomach growled. The run up the hill and the time to herself had calmed the furore that had been churning in her breast.

She knew that she was being unfairly blamed by her mother for the birth of yet another girl. It aggravated Elizabeth to realise that a parent would believe in such a fantastical idea that she—a child—found highly improbable.

Elizabeth sat down in the hilltop grass and opened her ragged notebook. She read the notes it held. Various dates and times were in columns along with letters.

April 12th 10 sec. RHU

April 14th 5 sec. Ro A in

She smiled at the entries and the pleasurable memories they symbolised in her heart and mind. RHU—Running Hands Up; Ro A in—Rolling Arms in, and so on.

Elizabeth scowled at the blank space at the bottom of the page. She recalled that, due to a heavy, sudden rain, she had been unable to attempt her final speed test. Her hopes had been to show her papa the results of the many ways one could travel down the hill and then declare which was the most expedient. She had no doubt that Mr Bennet would find the results of her experimentations very interesting. He would be terribly impressed to see the meticulous records she had kept in order to prove her result.

Elizabeth stood and took in a deep breath, for she had put the most frightening test off till the very end. Last year, a travelling group of performers had accidentally made their way through Meryton. Poor directions had caused them to make a slight detour on their way to London. Elizabeth had marvelled at the tumbler who rolled over and over and over. She had practised with determination and zeal to copy him until, at last, she believed that she was capable of tumbling with as much ease and speed as the performer.

However, now that she was at the very top of the hill, looking down at the receding landscape, she was frightened. "Courage, Elizabeth."

With resolution making her jaw tight, Elizabeth began the tumble as she silently counted off the seconds in her head. The first few rolls were nothing extraordinary. Then her body began to pick up speed, and before she knew it, Elizabeth felt she was unable to stop herself and let out a squeal of fright. Something hit her in the side before she came to a sliding halt at the very bottom of the hill.

Panting with her eyes squeezed shut, tears leaked out of her lids as a sharp pain ran up her left arm. Elizabeth kept her eyes closed as waves of dizziness, nausea, and discomfort coursed through her. Finally, she dared to peek her eyes open. The sky overhead spun in a most unusual way. Twisting her head so that she could see the path she had taken, Elizabeth observed that she had tumbled over the very log that she had kicked in anger off the top of the hill. Pain washed over her arm and chest. She lay there for what seemed to her to be a very long time before the sound of concerned exclamations caught her ear. For the duration of that hour of pain and confusion before the approaching footfalls were heard, Elizabeth had kept her eyes on the clouds and wondered if they were water in another form.

"Rain comes from clouds. As does snow. They are forms of water. Are clouds water? Is steam water? Are clouds made of steam?" These musings faded in and out of her mind. A single drop of rain fell to the centre of her forehead, a kind of benevolent benediction from the currents and waves of air overhead. She smiled at the cloud just as the pounding of approaching feet shivered up through her dress and skin.

Elizabeth awoke later to dull, intense pain in her arm. Mr Bennet was sitting next to her bed with her grimy notebook in his hand. He turned the pages thoughtfully. There was none of the bemused indulgence that typically shaded her father's countenance when he perused a drawing, writing, or needlework executed by one of his daughters. His expression held a reverent consideration that Elizabeth had only seen when he was reading some new publication that had arrived for him. Through the pain in her arm and the dull ache in her head, Elizabeth sensed a sliver of pride from her father as he regarded her experimentations.

Mr Bennet's eyebrows shot up as his gaze fell upon her. "Awake? Have you learnt a lesson in the impropriety of a little girl running off by herself to hurl herself down mountains?"

Elizabeth could not say, Yes, sir. Instead, she bit her lower lip and turned her head away so that she would not have to witness disapproval on her beloved father's face.

"My arm hurts," she murmured.

"I imagine it does. Are you familiar with Newton's Third Law?"

"Do newts really have laws? Do snakes also have their own laws?" Elizabeth winced as her excitement at her father's question had compelled her to raise her head, thus causing even greater pain in her arm.

"Stay still, child," Mr Bennet said with an indulgent chuckle. "Did you learn nothing about the value of stillness as you lay at the bottom of the hill? Sir Isaac Newton was a terribly clever fellow. He enjoyed science and testing out ideas."

"Like me!"

"Hmm. As your little notebook will attest." He waved the book back and forth in the air. "I assume all of these are different methods for getting down the hill. And you were recording the results."

Elizabeth nodded, uncertain if she was in trouble or not.

"Well, Newton was very much of your turn of mind. He came up with the idea that to every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. You ran—"

"Tumbled! Not ran. I tumbled like the little man in the shiny green breeches who was here with the performers. I went head over tail, one after the other till I reached the bottom. And I believe it would have been my fastest time yet had not the log been in my way."

Mr Bennet had his lips pressed together as his eyes twinkled. "I apologise. It is the correct thing indeed to understand the variables in the experiment. You tumbled down the hill. The log was in your path. It was stationary. You were not. The energy of your forward movement caused a collision. The result was that you broke your arm. You were testing out Newton's Third Law."

"My arm!" Elizabeth exclaimed, peering down her shoulder at the offending limb.

"Yes. The bone will mend clean and strong…so the doctor tells us. You are fortunate."

Mr Bennet stood and leaned over Elizabeth. A quick, dry kiss was planted on her forehead. She looked up, smiling.

"Papa, will you read to me?"

He straightened and cleared his throat, blinking rapidly. "You must rest. And if you are a good girl who eats what she is supposed to and tries very hard to remain still for the rest of the evening, I will read to you tomorrow morning."

"Really?"

"Yes. A fairy tale."

Elizabeth groaned. "But I have read all the fairy tales we have. I love them, but I want to hear something that you read."

"Such as?"

Elizabeth wrinkled her nose in thought. "That Newt fellow. Do you have anything of his?"

"Why, yes. Indeed, I do. Are you certain? It is not typical fare for young girls."

"If what you explained to me was his third law, what were the two before? And were there more after?"

Mr Bennet opened the door. The peppering of eager questions paused his step. He turned and smiled benevolently at the second oldest of his five daughters. "We will have to find out together, will we not?"