Chapter One

1811, August, Hertfordshire

F itzwilliam Darcy felt as if he were in a very dark cave with little air and absolutely no chance of escape. His palms were ridiculously sweaty. There was a bizarre pulsing sensation behind the lid of his right eye, and his heart raced.

I loathe this. What was I thinking? Torture would be preferable.

The noise, the dense moistness of the very air he breathed, the crush of people—some of whom would have benefitted from the practice of regular bathing—all made his already anxious state of mind quicken to a breakneck pace.

"Darcy."

He turned his head slightly and swallowed. He kept his focus floating above the assembly. If he avoided encountering anyone's gaze, he could better ignore the crowd of bodies that created the mire he was stuck in. For that was exactly what he felt like—a lost walker on the moors in a sucking bog, hoping desperately that he could make an escape onto solid footing.

"Yes?" Darcy replied to his friend, Mr Charles Bingley.

"You must dance! You are even more hesitant to participate than is usual for you. Are you well?"

"Of course." Darcy snapped at his well-meaning friend with more asperity than he had intended. Even to Bingley, he could not admit that he had never before been to a dance where he had been unfamiliar with almost every person in the room. His attendance in society had been so regular from such a young age, there had hardly been an event where he had not been familiar—at least on speaking terms—with several others in the room. The connexions that his ancient family had formed over the course of several centuries ensured that wherever Fitzwilliam Darcy went, he was greeted with affability and obsequiousness. His wealth, his family name, his unmarried state, all of these combined to make him a man with whom society went out of its way to acquaint themselves, for it was likely that every person had need of at least one of those qualities. A gambling debt to be paid off by a loan? A nudge up in their standing in the ton ? An unmarried young lady whom they would rather not be responsible for? These were ample enough reasons for Darcy to be welcomed and his acquaintance cultivated any place he went. Though his was not an intrinsically vicious or unpleasant character, Darcy's previously easy path in society had done nothing to encourage him to nurture those subtle skills needed to ingratiate oneself to strangers.

Darcy shifted from one foot to the other. Bingley's kind concern was not helping him forget the vast sea of strange faces that stretched before him. Had he been in a more cheerful frame of mind when he had arrived in Hertfordshire, perhaps Darcy would have been more gregarious. But his mood had been foul from the first moment of his arrival. The refuge that he had hoped Hertfordshire would be was no better than London or his home of Pemberley. All of the worries and concerns from which he had anticipated having a small respite had pursued him here.

The Darcy finances were on treacherous ground. Through poor financial advice that his deceased father had heeded, the Darcy fortune had plummeted at an alarming rate. His own reticence had ensured that no one knew the true state of his fortune at the moment. Darcy cursed inwardly at the foolish trust that the late, senior Mr Darcy had placed in George Wickham, the son of the late steward of Pemberley and a favourite of his father's. For now, his inherited estate of Pemberley was doing adequately enough to maintain itself for at least a year, if many cuts in expenses were made. However, that did not leave enough to cover any unforeseen calamity that might occur. Added to this was the startling discovery that well over half of his younger sister's dowry had been invested in some sort of mining scheme in the Far East that employed water and imported beavers. The mere thought of how ludicrous that particular speculation sounded reaffirmed just how wickedly persuasive Wickham could be. That was just one of the string of ill-advised investments that the senior Mr Darcy had made with little or no consultation with his heir or the family solicitor, Mr Cromtook. The schemes had been so varied in nature and far-reaching that it had taken several years to untangle the trails of missing funds.

Darcy rubbed his hand over his forehead, doing little to eradicate the ache there.

" —stupid manner. You had much better dance," Bingley declared as he finished a lecture to which Darcy had only half attended.

"Eh? You know how I detest it. Unless I am particularly acquainted with my partner. Your sisters are engaged at present." Darcy dared speak no further. He closed his eyes in an attempt to banish the dizziness that was threatening to overtake him.

"I would not be so fastidious as you are for a kingdom! Upon my honour, several of the young ladies here are uncommonly pretty."

"You are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room."

Bingley entered into a minor diatribe about the striking beauty of the girl with whom he had already stood up twice. Eagerly, Darcy's friend recounted the ways in which the Hertfordshire beauty had impressed him with her few kind and sensible comments. Combining this with her notable loveliness, Bingley was lost in a haze of infatuation. Darcy managed to ignore the bulk of what he said and silently wished for the evening to end quickly. Speculation arose in his mind as to how far the walk would be back to Netherfield, Bingley's estate. Then the absurd image of himself wandering, lost, over fields and across streams whilst wearing sodden, muddied dancing shoes and breeches brought him to his senses. His pride could not abide the possibility.

"She is an angel! You must allow me to ask my partner to introduce you to her sister."

"Which do you mean?" Darcy asked tightly. Bingley inclined his head very slightly to a spot just over Darcy's shoulder. He turned. Darcy's gaze fell upon a very pretty, dark lady who was slight in frame and proud in her air. Her cheeks glowed with the warmth of the room and gave her entire bearing the impression of a quick mind and a body that hummed with impatience to be active.

Darcy blinked. Surprise washed over him. How had he not noted this young lady previously? He genuinely did want to ask her to dance. The knowledge of this fact mortified him even more. Then she raised her eyes.

Such eyes as hers were a rarity. His heart gave a brief leap, inspired by an emotion to which he was completely virgin. His clammy palms began to moisten even further. The idea of taking her beautiful, gloved hand in his caused him no small moment of sheer panic. With a Herculean effort, Darcy tore his gaze from hers. He clasped his hands behind his back firmly, clearly displaying through his stance and bearing for everyone to witness that he did not intend to be incommoded by a rustic dance partner this evening.

"She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me; and I am in no humour at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men." Even as the words passed his lips, Darcy was ashamed of himself. The falsity of the declaration and how it was counter to his genuine feelings made him stand up even taller and make himself appear more imperious. Now that he had made a stand on his hill of collapsing sand through this ridiculous, public statement, he intended to defend it with vehemence.

Bingley abandoned all hope of forcing his friend into enjoying himself. He soon returned to the eldest Bennet girl and was all smiles and nods for the rest of the evening. The young woman whom Darcy had so cruelly slighted stood and walked by him. The wave of heat and the mildly floral scent of her threatened to swamp Darcy like a ship in seas that were far too rough. His body swayed back slightly at the sensation.

For the rest of the evening, Darcy found himself distracted from his anxiety by the very pretty face, easy laugh, and captivating eyes of Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

This distraction did not ease in the following days. Every time they encountered one another, Darcy's regard for Miss Elizabeth's admirable qualities intensified. His appreciation did not remain in the realm of bemused detachment for very long. He felt himself to be on the precipice of a fall from a great height. The most daunting prospect of this realisation was that Darcy was soon unsure if he had the power to withdraw himself away from the dangerous edge of wild admiration.

Miss Elizabeth remained several days at Netherfield to nurse Jane Bennet when a sudden, violent cold laid her up. Darcy had the opportunity to plumb the depths of Miss Elizabeth's mind in earnest. That was typically the Achilles heel of every young lady who had set their cap at Darcy. The power of their intellect would not be strong enough to meet him equally on the field of debate. Once again, Darcy found himself enthralled by the charms of the bewitching Bennet girl. She not only held her own in banter on the nature of persuasion, but she had very nearly convinced him that ductility of character was an admirable trait, not a weakness.

It was with begrudging acceptance that Darcy acknowledged that he admired her so powerfully, he began to think he could not live without her. How could he? How had he lived before her? He could not recall. He did not wish to recall.

The most mortifying aspect of this unexpected capture of his heart was that, since his fortunes were so perilously compromised, he could not be certain that he should even try for her hand. If he had been the same Fitzwilliam Darcy as he had been one year previously, before he was fully aware of the extent of the poor investments his father had made, he would have no hesitation in asking for her hand in marriage. Even as the delightful imagining rose up before him, he had to dismiss it. A year previously, Miss Elizabeth's status in society, so much lower than Darcy's, would have precluded any serious intention by him. But now, he had to wonder if he had any right to ask her when his own fortunes were in such a state of flux. It was a conflicting tangle of resentment and longing.

Darcy resolved to leave Hertfordshire within a few days. If he could not in good conscience ask Miss Elizabeth to marry him, he would remove himself from this constant torment. The only reason he stayed was so that he could attend the ball that Bingley was giving at Netherfield. One dance, one evening of guiding her body through the steps, one instance of her radiant smile beaming up for him alone. That should do well enough so that he could depart with fond memories and busy himself with the task of erasing her from his heart.

The pair of Netherfield gentlemen rode out on the morning before the ball. Bingley was in giddy spirits, even more so than was typical of his jolly character. After a hard gallop through some fields that were being allowed to lay fallow for a season, they pulled up to give their horses time to drink at the stream that ran along a very slim border with the Longbourn estate. Both lands formed a kind of elongated wedge that met in this one small spot.

"Do you think Miss Bennet is up and dressed yet?" Bingley asked with a rakish grin.

"I imagine so. She seems to be a reasonable lady who would not lounge about all day long."

Unintentionally, they both held their gaze towards Longbourn. Though the house was not at all in sight, the pull of their attention could not be denied by either man. But their moods were wildly different. Bingley was beaming. Darcy was brooding with drawn brows.

"Do you know—" Bingley broke off with a tepid laugh. "I say, Darcy, I would like your guidance upon a matter."

"You know you can always rely upon me."

"Yes, well, I would have asked my father for guidance."

"Neither of us have that privilege."

"No. Unfortunately, we do not. Tonight, at the ball, I intend to have a private moment with Jane—I mean to say, Miss Bennet. I am going to ask for her hand. If no opportunity presents itself tonight, then tomorrow. What do you think? Should I? Do you think she will accept me?"

Darcy looked down as he resettled his weight in the saddle. He pulled up the reins to stop his horse from mowing down green sprigs of grass. With a nudge, he turned his horse. The pause in their conversation gave him the opportunity to organise his thoughts on the subject. Darcy recognised a brief surge in bilious resentment that Bingley should have the liberty to pursue whatever lady he so desired without regard to fortune or status.

Until recently, Darcy would have dismissed his warm regard for Elizabeth Bennet as being too degrading. Things had changed so rapidly and dramatically that he now found himself dismissing the very idea of Miss Elizabeth as a wife because he was truly uncertain what kind of future he could offer her. The grim tangle of his fortunes was such now that, if it were known to the world at large, he would quickly fall from the most eligible of catches to a man who would be acceptable to marry simply for the lustre of the former glory of his name and wealth.

Now, here was Darcy's closest friend, with no father to consult for guidance, asking his opinion in regard to a future partner. The weight of this responsibility was added to the heaviness of untenable decisions that must be made and would affect so many.

Darcy had the sudden urge to dig his heels into the sides of his horse and bolt over the horizon. The thought made him blink in astonishment, for he had always relished his responsibilities as a landowner, brother, and friend.

"I— Well, I think you should—" Darcy stumbled over his words. With a sigh, he quelled the tumult of emotion in his chest. "If you are fairly certain that Miss Bennet has a true and deep regard for you, then you could do no better than to ask for her hand. I have witnessed for myself how pleasing and considerate she is when we have been in company with her. There is little doubt that she is exceptionally beautiful—"

"Beyond comparison. Her eyes, those cheeks—"

"And," Darcy interjected hastily, not wishing this to sink into another retelling of the long list of virtues that Miss Jane Bennet blessed the world with, "I can recall several instances when I was struck by the good sense in what she said. A sensible wife with beauty and kindness is no small treasure, to be sure." Darcy felt an unaccustomed pang in the centre of his chest. The words spoken aloud made his own problem become all too real and hopeless. "Your past fancies have all been ladies who had no more wit than puzzled chickens. It is my opinion that you have liked many a silly girl in the past and that your choice of Miss Bennet is both wise and admirable."

"I am so pleased to hear you say that! My sisters, when I broached the topic with them, did not warm to the possibility."

"Ah, that is perhaps no surprise. Miss Bennet can offer little in the way of a dowry, and her connexions to trade could be considered by most as a reason to quell any warmth towards her. She could not further your standing in society and—as a consequence—the standing of your sisters."

"But, as I pointed out to my sisters, it was not so very long ago that our family were in trade ourselves! Which, I should not have mentioned to you, I think." Bingley glanced around nervously lest his sisters be near enough to overhear. "I realise that they would not wish me to remind you of our past connexions to trade. In fact, Caroline has been rather adamant upon this point. Dogged, even."

Darcy turned his head to hide a small grin. He had long suspected that Miss Bingley had a preference for him, and she would be livid if she knew that Bingley was reminding him of the humble origins of their fortune. In all dealings with her, Darcy was fastidiously polite, but cool. Even Miss Bingley's sharp mind could not mistake his behaviour to be anything more than the platonic regard of an uninterested gentleman for his friend's relation.

"Your sisters are intelligent ladies, especially in matters of society, and it would be good to take heed of their advice. However, at the end of the day, you are the one who must live with your decisions. At the ball, take particular care to notice Miss Bennet's expressions and how she holds herself in your presence. Is she encouraging? Does she welcome your overtures? When the demands of society are over for the day, will she make you happy? And, of equal importance, will you be able to make her happiness a matter of serious consideration?" Darcy paused, surprised by the thought of considering the lady's happiness so earnestly. Just recently had it occurred to him that a lady he offered for might turn him down. It had never been a possibility before, for who would entertain the idea of rejecting Fitzwilliam Darcy? "If you find clear indications of encouragement from her, by all means, if your heart so commands it, you must obey. I would advise that you move forward slowly, until all shadow of a doubt of her regard can be quelled."

Bingley was silent for several moments, his gaze down at the path before them. His lips were pressed together in uncharacteristic solemnity. With a sudden toss of his head and a laugh into the sky, all of Bingley's good humour pounced back into his features.

"Well said. I had not thought that you , of all people, would have been so, so, so—"

Straightening his back in his saddle as much as he was able, Darcy turned to Bingley with a haughty upward tilt of his chin. "Yes? How did you expect to find me when discussing a proposal of marriage to a lady?"

"Well, I—I do not know what I anticipated! I knew you would counsel me with wisdom, sense, and all that was proper. But, just now, you had the faintest hint of— Oh, do forget what I said."

"The faintest hint of what, exactly?" Darcy asked, unable to keep a shade of tartness out of his tone.

"Dare I say—passion? I thought you would be all prickles and objections when hearing of my desire to try for the hand of Miss Bennet. I believed you would be more opposed to the idea than even my sisters. You surprised me. That is all I was intending to say. I thank you. You know that your good opinion means a great deal to me."

"I did not intend my counsel to be misinterpreted as an outright sanction. You should not take it as such. I was merely pointing out the reasonable way to proceed. As I said, after spending much more time in her company, if you find Miss Bennet to be truly reciprocating your affections, beyond any doubt, then I think she would make a very desirous choice, as you have no pressing need to choose a partner with an ample dowry and good—"

Darcy turned his head to look at his friend. Bingley had the most ridiculous grin on his face and was almost heedless of his management of his horse, Bessy. It was a very good thing that he had a stolid mare for his mount and not a more spirited beast, for a more mischievous animal would have taken full advantage of Bingley's neglect and would have misbehaved.

With a sigh, Darcy halted his monologue that was unheeded and unwanted. All that was left to him was to hope that his friend would take to heart his advice and behave accordingly. Darcy had no pleasure when he contemplated the approaching ball that evening. The only thing he could hope for was a very pleasant dance with Miss Elizabeth Bennet.