Prologue

PROLOGUE

November 28, 1811

I t was not usual for a wedding to be so well attended. The breakfast afterwards, yes—and most of the neighbourhood would participate in that event, too.

Elizabeth sighed at the sight of the crowded pews as she peeked into the nave, feeling as though she was put on display for the entire world. It was her mama’s fault, naturally, although, really, Darcy shared the blame as well. Had he not publicly insulted her at the first assembly he had attended, for all the country to notice and remark upon, her recent announcement of their sudden nuptials—which her mama repeated to anyone who would listen—would not have caused such a stir.

Of course, there were those who were curious for more reason than simply their initial antipathy. The abrupt public reversal of feeling had also drawn raised brows and not-so-subtle, measuring glances at her middle.

Elizabeth was certainly not ‘in the family way’, but there was every need for haste. Darcy’s sister—whom she had yet to meet—had fallen in love, although she was so young at just sixteen. Her family, convinced that the man was only interested in her fortune of thirty thousand pounds, had separated them, and Miss Darcy was apparently still very much distressed over the loss of her lover.

Currently, she was living with her aunt and uncle, the celebrated Lord and Lady Matlock, at their London residence. Darcy wished to bring her home. His esteemed relations wished to keep her. He had not objected thus far, because he had no wife and felt acutely his own shortcomings in advising her. In Elizabeth, he claimed, he had found her the perfect sister. He simply had not recognised it upon the evening of their first meeting.

“I was a fool,” he had said. “Unhappy about my sister, I took out my frustration with life upon Bingley, with you as the target of my displeasure. I should have been cast out of the assembly for my churlish behaviour. You cannot know how I regret it.”

He is not marrying me simply to gain a sister for his , Elizabeth reassured herself. The violence of his affections had been a very convincing argument for his depth of feeling. He had also explained that it would be selfish of him to remain at Netherfield for a lengthy wooing when his sister was so truly despondent.

Elizabeth had met Colonel Fitzwilliam, younger son of the earl of Matlock and Miss Darcy’s joint guardian, whom Darcy had invited to stand up with him at their marriage. Although Darcy had assured her of his cousin’s amiability, she had found the colonel stiff, cold, and formal. If his parents were cut from the same bolt, she could not believe them to be the best overseers of a sensitive girl who was struggling with bitter disappointment. Besides, the idea of a separation, for months, while Darcy remained in Derbyshire, was an awful one.

It would be wisest, they had both agreed, to marry before Miss Darcy was moved for the Festive Season to Matlock, to present the illustrious earl with their marriage as a fait accompli , and to have the three of them start life together without delay.

To that end, just over a week ago he had departed Netherfield to procure a licence from his uncle, Bishop Darcy, in town. He meant to speak to his sister while there, to give her the happy news privately. He had hoped she would be pleased; according to Darcy, she adored Pemberley above anywhere else in the world and must be longing to return. He also insisted that he would have his solicitor draw up a settlement that would see Elizabeth protected, no matter that she brought almost nothing to the match. It would be his privilege to care for her always, he said.

He had not come to her yesterday, although she had expected him—had waited up late, while the torrents drumming at the windows told her that his reappearance was unlikely. If he had not managed the journey during the day, it would be foolish to attempt it during a storm, in darkness. Elizabeth was certain that the succession of rain, which had inundated them from almost the hour of his departure, was responsible for the delay in his return. Large sections of the road must be a soggy, muddy wreck.

Nevertheless, she had been quite convinced that, if he had to walk, he would be at the church before ten o’clock, the appointed hour of their wedding ceremony. The day had dawned bright and clear, as if even the weather was ready to celebrate; she knew he was as eager to be her husband as she was to become his wife.

She peered again into the nave; there was no sign of either her bridegroom or the colonel. Beside her, her father, so jovial and eager thirty minutes before, looked concerned.

The vicar, Mr Palmer, appeared in the vestibule. “Miss Elizabeth, perhaps you and your father would care to await your bridegroom in a more private chamber? It is chilly out here.” He hesitated. “If you would like, you can come around the north side and enter that way.”

So that I do not have to stride down the aisle with no bridegroom awaiting me, causing further talk.

“Yes, that is an excellent idea,” Mr Bennet agreed immediately.

They tramped around the church to the smaller entrance, used mainly by the vicar, and he let them into the vestry before leaving them to wait alone. There they sat in uncomfortable silence as the muffled sounds from beyond the vestry door grew louder.

“What time is it, Papa?” Elizabeth finally asked.

Slowly, he withdrew his pocket watch, snapping its brass cover open. “Twenty minutes after eleven, but this dashed watch cannot keep time lately. It is probably running fast. I must take it to be repaired. ”

For the very first time, a cold sliver of fear streaked down Elizabeth’s spine. Impossible that Darcy should not be here, not unless something had happened to him. If there was one thing of which she was certain, it was her betrothed’s integrity.

An accident. It was the only answer.

Do not panic , she cautioned herself. You do not yet have any information. A lame horse, a transom requiring repair, a tree downed across a road, all these things might cause significant, unexpected delay.

Perhaps it was silly, but she believed with her whole soul that he was not harmed. She felt, somehow, that she would know if that were the case.

Some minutes later, she heard the murmurs beginning to quiet, and the echoing sounds of footsteps on the limestone floor. Onlookers were, clearly, leaving; presumably her family had departed as well. Still, she would not surrender her hope, even though her father now looked positively haggard.

Mr Palmer entered at last, regarding her with obvious pity. “It is noontime. I can no longer perform the ceremony today. Perhaps we ought to reschedule for tomorrow.”

Hope gave way in a flood of anxious worry.

“Let us go home, Daughter,” Papa said gently. “I am certain we will have news later, and we should be home when it arrives.”

It was plain that he, too, believed some terrible mishap had occurred. Numbly, she nodded, standing.

At that moment, old Mr Goulding entered the vestry, appearing surprised to see them all standing about. “Bennet. Miss Elizabeth. Mr Palmer.” He gave a little bow, looking from one to the other of them, shifting uncomfortably on his feet.

“Goulding,” Mr Bennet replied, nodding shortly.

The older man scratched his head. “I say,” he started, glancing anxiously at Elizabeth and then her father. “I require…a moment, Mr Palmer. Could I speak to you…to relay some news…privately?”

It was so obvious that the ‘news’ concerned the Bennets, Elizabeth could not hold her tongue. “Is it about Mr Darcy?”

“Well…as to that—” Goulding hesitated, and then scratched his head again. “—was not sure who to tell. Or if I ought.”

Elizabeth thought she might scream.

“Goulding, we have been friends for many years. Do tell us what you have to say. It is best we hear it directly,” Mr Bennet bade, his voice stern. But he moved closer to Elizabeth, placing a comforting hand upon her shoulder.

Goulding appeared as if he wished to be anywhere else in the world, and, albeit reluctantly, nodded his agreement. “I had a meeting with my solicitor in town this morning…no time to cool my heels at the church, so I was on my way as soon as it became apparent the bridegroom would be late.” He began apologies for this, but thankfully Mr Bennet cut him off.

“Please, sir, come to the point!”

“Yes, yes of course. Had barely begun my journey when one of my horses threw a shoe. Was brought to a halt just beyond the lane leading to Netherfield’s drive. I was surprised when a few minutes later, as I was out with my coachman, discussing what ought to be done, the fellow you introduced to us at Philips’s home last week, Colonel, er?— ”

“Fitzwilliam,” Mr Bennet supplied.

“Yes, yes, that’s the name. Fitzwilliam. He came riding by, slowing when he saw us. ‘I believe you are heading the wrong direction,’ I called to him, pointing back to Meryton. Thought he might be turned around, you know. ‘The church is the other way. You have a village full of folks awaiting the bridegroom—your Mr Darcy.’”

Goulding glanced at Elizabeth, and began speaking more quickly, obviously trying to get the tale over with. “He said Darcy was no one’s bridegroom. That just because a group of yokels tried to force him into wedlock, he was under no obligation to support rumours and misunderstandings. That a man has every right to come to his senses once he’s out from under a siren’s thumb.” He glanced at Elizabeth again and flushed. “Then he rode off at a trot. Towards London.”

“He must be mistaken!” Mr Palmer cried, appearing astonished. But then, before their eyes, his aspect changed—to one of doubt. “Of course…I have never spoken to Mr Darcy myself. Do you suppose, Mr Bennet, that you were confused? About his intentions, I mean?”

“Absolutely not!” her father snapped. “Mr Darcy approached me , in my book room, and asked for my daughter’s hand in marriage. He asked me for a letter granting this permission, so that he could obtain a licence. I wrote the letter. He said that he would meet us, here, at this church, at ten o’clock today, with licence in hand. I could hardly have misinterpreted that , could I?”

“No, no,” Mr Palmer said, his voice soothing. “’Tis odd he did not speak to me about the matter, perhaps.”

Mr Bennet huffed. “Mr Darcy did not speak to you because he asked me to. He must have met with some accident or unavoidable delay preventing his timely reappearance.”

“Must be it,” Goulding agreed, although Elizabeth could see scepticism writ all over his face, plainly shared by the vicar.

“Come, Elizabeth,” Mr Bennet ordered sternly, although his hand upon her shoulder gave a comforting squeeze. “Let us go home and await word there.”

Stricken, disbelieving, heartsick, Elizabeth stumbled from the room.