Chapter One

Elizabeth

30 th November 1811

Longbourn, Hertfordshire

T he staircase creaked as Elizabeth climbed up to her chamber. The entire house was infused with the aroma of the stew that the cook was preparing in the kitchen, and usually, the smell of her favourite meal would have made Elizabeth’s stomach rumble and her mouth water with anticipation. However, these last few days she hadn’t had much of an appetite. Her poor sister, Jane, had been so deeply in the clutches of melancholy that Elizabeth hadn’t found it in herself to be happy about anything, while Jane was so miserable.

She cursed Mr Bingley, cursed his sisters, and whoever else was involved in her sister’s fate.

A few short weeks ago, it had seemed certain that Mr Charles Bingley would make an offer of marriage to her beloved sister. It had been clear to all of Meryton that the two were moon-eyed over one another. That was until he had been called away on business to London. Still, he’d assured Jane he would return—only for that promise to be undone by a very curt letter penned by his sister Caroline, informing Jane that they would remain in London for the rest of the year and would likely not return to Netherfield in the near future, if at all.

Heartbroken and confused, Jane had retreated into a world of her own. Elizabeth had been quite certain from the beginning that Mr Bingley’s sisters—who outwardly acted kindly towards Jane—harboured a dislike of the family.

Indeed, she was certain that they would not have been in favour of the match because they made it quite clear they thought themselves somehow above the Bennets. Just how they had arrived at that conclusion Elizabeth didn’t understand because, as gentlemen’s daughters, she and Jane outranked the Bingley sisters, there was no question about it.

That they would have interfered in the courtship resulting in the separation of Jane and Mr Bingley, had shocked her. But what surprised her even more was that Mr Bingley had so readily taken their counsel. Surely if they had disapproved of the match they would have spoken up earlier. If their words had fallen on deaf ears while they had remained at Netherfield, what had changed in London?

She stopped in front of her sister’s door and knocked before pushing down the handle and peering inside. The door creaked, drawing Jane’s attention. Her sister was seated upon the wide windowsill, a letter in hand, and when she turned her face to look at Elizabeth, Elizabeth’s heart sank. Jane had been crying.

“Jane,” she said, hurrying across the room to her sister’s side. “Pray, what has happened? What has upset you so?”

Jane had been dispirited for weeks now, but she hadn’t cried—not since the first week after they had watched Netherfield being shut up by Mr Morris, the owner who had rented it to the Bingleys. Since then, Jane had composed herself enough to face the world, although she had withdrawn into herself, sharing her innermost thoughts only with Elizabeth and only when nobody else could hear them. To see her crying now, greatly alarmed her.

Jane looked at her out of her wide blue eyes as she held up the letter. “This is from Charlotte Lucas. I mean, Mrs Charlotte Collins,” she said, and Elizabeth frowned immediately. Charlotte Lucas had been her best friend since childhood, although their friendship had suffered some strain after Charlotte, eager to be married lest she end up an old maid, had married Elizabeth’s insufferable cousin William Collins in the spring. They had somewhat mended their rift, but the friendship was not what it had once been.

In fact, she had not received a letter from Charlotte in several weeks, so to hear that she was writing to Jane, who had never been more than an acquaintance to Charlotte, was puzzling. And why such a letter should have reduced Jane to tears was even more unusual.

“From Charlotte? Pray, why?”

Jane took a deep breath. “Charlotte became privy to some information she felt I needed to know. She had heard from her sister about Mr Bingley’s sudden departure, and her sister must have shared how distraught I was and how surprising all of this was to me.”

Elizabeth nodded. Of course, all of Meryton had talked about nothing but the Bingleys’ sudden departure and what that meant for the future. “Do not keep me in suspense. What did she write?”

Jane took a shaky breath. “Charlotte and Mr Collins were invited to dine with his patroness, Lady Catherine. During dinner, which was also attended by Lady Catherine’s nephew, one Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, they spoke of another cousin of his, a Mr Darcy. You might remember, Charles—that is, Mr Bingley—mentioning him.”

Elizabeth had heard Mr Bingley and his sister discuss a friend of his from Derbyshire who was meant to come and stay for a few weeks but had changed his mind. This gentleman’s absence had vexed Mr Bingley who’d spoken of him in the manner one might speak of an older brother or revered friend. But how was this friend connected to this saga and to their cousin?

Her sister continued, “Lady Catherine enquired as to what Mr Darcy was doing these days, and in that conversation, it came up that he is in London. Colonel Fitzwilliam told a riveting tale about how Mr Darcy had saved one of his dearest friends from the most unfortunate match. He said Mr Darcy rushed to his friend’s side upon hearing that his friend was about to make a horrible match with a young woman from a family that was far beneath his own. The Colonel spoke in tones of admiration about his cousin’s actions and how he had saved his friend from ruining his future by tying himself to this most unfortunate woman.” Elizabeth’s stomach dropped because even though Jane hadn’t said it, she already understood what her sister meant.

“Mr Bingley was that friend?” she asked, and Jane nodded as thick tears rolled from her eyes. She blinked, her eyelashes wet and heavy.

“Yes, Charlotte enquired further to make sure, and Colonel Fitzwilliam confirmed it. Apparently, Mr Darcy, as well as Mr Bingley’s sisters, thought that our family was an embarrassment and would hinder their chances of rising in the eyes of society, and thus convinced him to give up his plans to return. How could someone judge me? What have I done wrong?” A wracking sob escaped from her, and her shoulders shook. Elizabeth wrapped her arms around her sister, hugging her tightly.

“Nothing, Jane, you have done nothing wrong. You do not deserve this. You are goodness itself.”

“I do not understand. He met my family, and he never said a word about disliking any of you. I know Mother can be difficult, and I know Lydia and Kitty are exceedingly silly, but this endangered our courtship? I do not understand. He never mentioned any dislike or discomfort to me, and we spoke about so much. How could this happen?”

Indeed, Elizabeth thought to herself. She had known that Caroline Bingley would try to influence her brother and try and turn him away from Jane, but she had had no doubt that he could withstand their assaults. But this Mr Darcy? She had never known the man, but she had heard Mr Bingley speak of him often enough to understand that this man wielded great influence over him. Indeed, had Mr Bingley not said that he could not commit to purchasing Netherfield outright without his friend’s good counsel? Now that she thought about it, that is exactly what he had said.

So it was this man who’d undone her sister’s happiness? And for what reason? Because he’d heard tales about their family, a family he’d never even met.

“I cannot believe this, Jane. How dare he? Without ever meeting you?”

Jane dabbed the handkerchief against her eyes and let out a sob. “I wish I could tell you, but I cannot. I suppose I was wrong about Mr Bingley’s feelings for me for he’d never have rejected me so quickly if he’d truly loved me.”

Elizabeth wanted to defend the young man’s love for Jane because she’d seen how he looked at her, always throwing admiring glances her way when he thought nobody could see, but she stopped herself.

Perhaps it was better that Jane believed Mr Bingley never truly loved her. For wasn’t it better to have lost your heart to a man who was harsh and callous, rather than to someone who truly loved you but didn’t have the spine to stand up to detractors?

Elizabeth rubbed her sister’s back. “My dear Jane, you did not deserve this. You deserve someone who loves you, all of you, unconditionally. And you will find that someone.”

“I cannot imagine loving another,” she said and looked out of the window.

“You will, one day very soon Mr Bingley will be naught but a distant memory,” Elizabeth assured her. Though in her stomach the anger and disappointment at Mr Bingley’s actions only simmered. And the rage for this tiresome Mr Darcy right alongside it.