Chapter 1

Netherfield Hall

Hertfordshire

Thursday

28 th November, 1811

The mistress’s quarters at Netherfield were large, airy, and elegant. Fashionable crimson paper covered the walls, and the furniture – all new, of course, and in the latest fashion – was embossed along the intricate carvings with gold paint. Delicately ruffled cushions sat at carefully placed precise angles on the chairs and loveseat alike.

At the moment the rooms, generally kept in perfect order, were a maelstrom of confusion as a young maid hastily packed Caroline Bingley’s clothing into trunks while Belinda, Caroline’s personal maid, took charge of her jewelry.

Miss Bingley herself did not, of course, sully her hands by doing any work. Her contribution was to give a great many orders, some of them contradictory, all of them shrill. The door to the bedchamber swung open abruptly to reveal Louisa Hurst, Caroline’s sister.

“Are you nearly ready to leave?” Mrs. Hurst demanded. “We must depart soon if we are to reach Town by sunset!”

Caroline sighed. This was not actually true. It was still a few minutes before noon, and London was but five and twenty miles away. But she was in agreement with the other inhabitants of Netherfield Hall that it was critical to leave as swiftly as possible.

“I will be finished shortly,” Caroline promised.

“ Mr. Darcy is ready to depart,” Louisa replied and disappeared as quickly as she had entered.

This was enough to galvanize Miss Bingley into action. She was hopeful of winning an offer from Mr. Darcy, master of the great estate of Pemberley, and she knew the gentleman did not like tardiness.

“Belinda, I depend on you to look after my jewelry,” she said sternly. “You will take the second carriage with the valets and my sister’s maid. Do not let my jewelry out of your sight.”

“Yes, Miss,” the woman responded meekly.

Caroline hurried out of the door, through the hall, down the stairs, and into the vestibule where Mr. and Mrs. Hurst were waiting, along with Mr. Darcy.

“Shall we?” she asked, smiling brightly up at Mr. Darcy. That gentleman was dressed soberly but elegantly in traveling clothes, with a warm overcoat to shield himself from the chilly weather and a fine hat to protect his head.

He was so rich, Mr. Darcy, and Pemberley was so grand, and the Darcys were so well connected…

“Certainly,” Darcy said, offering an arm. She took it with delight and then halted as Mrs. Nicholls, the housekeeper of Netherfield Hall, rushed into the room, her middle aged face creased with confusion.

“Miss Bingley?” she cried out. “What is happening? I was in Meryton speaking to the butcher about … in any case, are you leaving?”

Caroline huffed and was about to say something rude, but then she noted Darcy’s expression of concern.

“Mrs. Nicholls,” he said, “I apologize that you were not informed. Yes, we are leaving for London and intend to be there for some time.”

The woman looked even more confused. “Shall I close up the house, then? Will Mr. Bingley be returning?”

“Do enter the carriage and I will explain the situation,” Caroline said hastily to her traveling companions. She remembered belatedly that, as mistress of the house, she ought to be managing the staff. “I will only be a few minutes.”

Louisa nodded and departed on her husband’s arm, with Darcy following them.

“Yes, close up the house,” Caroline ordered. “Our personal maids and the valets will leave shortly with the second carriage, and…”

Ten minutes later, she turned to leave, confident that all was well here at Netherfield Park. Not that she cared a whit about the estate itself. No, her brother had made a great mistake in leasing an estate in such a backward area of the country. But she had, at least, shown Mr. Darcy that she was a competent mistress of a great house.

She hurried out the door and winced as a cold, brisk wind smacked her in the face. Thankfully, the front walk curved in the direction of the main drive, and she soon found herself with her back to the wind as she hastened toward the carriage, which was waiting to carry her to Town where she would be surrounded by other members of high society.

She was vaguely aware, through the wind and her own tapping feet, of masculine yelling behind her, including someone calling “Miss!” over and over.

But she refused to deal with anyone else in this godforsaken place. She wanted to be in the carriage, with a hot brick under her feet and rugs over her hands, with Mr. Darcy across from her.

There was another sound, now, not words, but noises, like animal noises, perhaps? That was absurd, of course; there were animals in the nearby barns, but not here, not on the front lawn of…

Too late, she turned to glance behind her and froze in horror.

Pigs!

/

Fitzwilliam Darcy pushed his feet down on the hot brick, the better to warm them, and cast an impatient look toward the house. He should have known better than to climb into the carriage before Caroline Bingley. The lady was generally loquacious, and was doubtless giving a great many confusing directions to Mrs. Nicholls.

He felt a tiny throb of guilt for causing problems for the staff of the manse, but quickly subsumed it. He had a duty to his friend, Charles Bingley, and Mrs. Nicholls seemed a competent woman who would deal with the sudden departure of the party without much difficulty.

It was Bingley who needed saving – Bingley, who was kind and generous and honorable, who fell in love with disastrous ease, whose current angel was the eldest daughter of a local country squire, with a garrulous and vulgar mother, with hoydenish younger sisters. No, it would be catastrophic for Bingley to marry Jane Bennet. The lady herself was gracious and well mannered, but the rest of the family was impossible.

The rest of the family except for Elizabeth Bennet, the second daughter, but she was not at all eligible either, especially not for a Darcy…

Well, of course she was no fit bride for a Darcy! Not that he was in love, of course, but she was sufficiently fascinating that he found himself thinking of her too much. It was just as well that Darcy was obligated by his friendship to Bingley to retreat to London.

“There she is at last!” Louisa Hurst exclaimed from her position across from him. Darcy turned his head and observed Caroline Bingley hurry down the steps and down the path which led to the carriage.

A moment later, he frowned and leaned closer to the window. What was that? Some sort of animal – several animals – appeared to be charging for the house, chased or possibly pursued by several men. Mud spurted up from the creatures’ feet – pigs, he now saw. Massive black hogs, running spiritedly away from their keepers, some dozen at least.

Caroline, oblivious, continued picking her way down the drive, eyes squinted against the cold. She either did not notice or disregarded the ruckus the swine were making, and Darcy lunged for the door with a warning on his lips.

Just as his head emerged from the carriage, the approaching beasts caught Miss Bingley’s attention. She turned and shrieked, hands flying up, and spun to flee – but she had not made it more than two steps when the animals were surrounding her. She tried to run away, but one of the snorting hogs swerved at precisely the wrong moment, and she fell over its broad black back and landed on the ground with a shriek.

Darcy had already leapt to the cold hard-packed earth, and he charged forward, bellowing and laying about himself with his cane to clear a space around the fallen lady. Driving back the animals – who seemed more chaotic than angry, thanks be to God – he planted himself above the screaming Miss Bingley, brandishing his cane as their keepers sought to contain them.

Beneath and behind him, his friend’s sister lay sobbing. At last he lowered his cane, panting slightly, as the servants began herding their livestock back towards the pens. Darcy finally turned to look down at Miss Bingley, who had made no move to rise, her pelisse ripped and muddy with clear hoof-prints across the fine skirt, and dirt smeared all over her face.

What a disaster!

/

Drawing Room

Longbourn

Several wax candles glowed from their spots in front of polished mirrors, and the fire flickered brightly, illuminating the drawing room. The red upholstery shone like polished apples against the gold-embossed wood, while a dozen figurines twirled along the mantelpiece. On the table beneath a window, a china vase with gold leaf held a proliferation of dried flowers, artfully arranged.

Each of the six Bennet ladies sat decorously around the room, feet together, delicate tea cups in their hands. Mrs. Bennet was seated in the best chair nearest the fire, of course, while Lydia Bennet had placed herself beside Captain Carter on the loveseat, her elbow nudging his occasionally. Jane sat nearest the window, sporadically peering out at the cloudy skies and trees bare of leaves, and Mary faded into the background in a chair nearer the door.

Elizabeth glanced over at the old oak clock on the mantel before turning her gaze and a rather preoccupied smile on the man at her side, Lieutenant George Wickham. As much as she usually enjoyed the two officers’ company, they had been visiting Longbourn for the entire polite half hour, and she would be pleased when they left.

“I see that it is time for us to return to Meryton,” Lieutenant Wickham said, rising to his feet with a smile brightening his thoroughly handsome face.

“Do come back to visit anytime,” Mrs. Bennet replied cheerfully, eying the young militia officers with open approval.

“Yes, do, and perhaps Mamma will be having a dinner party soon, and we can invite you!” Lydia, the youngest of the girls, cried out.

“That would be delightful,” Wickham said and, after bestowing a last smile upon Elizabeth, turned on his heel and marched toward the door with Captain Carter in tow.

Elizabeth returned the smile and turned her attention to Jane, who had received a letter during the officers’ visit and was obviously distressed by it. As soon as the door shut behind their visitors, Jane glanced at Elizabeth and stood up, clearly desirous of speaking. Elizabeth followed her up to her own bedchamber and demanded, “Whatever is wrong, Jane?”

Jane, the eldest and most handsome of the five Bennet daughters, sighed deeply and pulled out the letter.

“This letter is from Caroline Bingley, and what it contains has surprised me a good deal. The whole party has left Netherfield by this time and is on their way to town … and without any intention of coming back again. You shall hear what she says.”

My sister and I, and all our party, have decided to follow my brother to town directly, and mean to dine today at Grosvenor Street, where Mr. Hurst has a house. I do not pretend to regret anything I shall leave in Hertfordshire, except your society, my dearest friend; but we will hope, at some future period, to enjoy many returns of that delightful intercourse we have known, and meanwhile may lessen the pain of separation by a very frequent and most unreserved correspondence. I depend on you for that.

Elizabeth frowned at these high-flown phrases. She did not like or trust Caroline Bingley, who was a haughty social climber and had, Elizabeth thought, taken Jane up as a friend more because she was bored in the country than due to genuine affection.

“I am sorry you will not see your friends before they leave Netherfield Hall,” she said aloud, “but I hope that Miss Bingley will soon have the pleasure of seeing you again at your wedding to her brother. Mr. Bingley has no reason to stay in Town merely because his sisters are there!”

Jane shook her head disconsolately. “Caroline says very clearly that none of the party will remain in Hertfordshire for the winter. Let me read it to you.”

When my brother left us yesterday, he imagined that the business which took him to London might be concluded in three or four days; but we think that when Charles gets to Town he will be in no hurry to leave it again. Many of my acquaintances are already there for the winter, and he will doubtless find plenty of reasons to remain in Town.

Mr. Darcy is impatient to see his sister; and, to confess the truth, we are scarcely less eager to meet her again. I really do not think Georgiana Darcy has her equal for beauty, elegance, and accomplishments; and the affection she inspires in Louisa and myself is heightened into something still more interesting, from the hope we dare entertain of her soon being our sister. I do not know whether I ever before mentioned to you my feelings on this subject; but I will not leave the country without confiding them, and I trust you will not esteem them unreasonably. My brother admires her greatly already; he will have frequent opportunity now of seeing her on the most intimate footing; her relations all wish the connection as much as his own; and a sister’s partiality is not misleading me, I think, when I call Charles most capable of engaging any woman’s heart. With all these circumstances to favor an attachment, and nothing to prevent it, am I wrong, my dearest Jane, in indulging the hope of an event which will secure the happiness of so many?

“What do you think of this sentence, my dear Lizzy?” said Jane as she finished it. “Is it not clear enough? Does it not expressly declare that Caroline does not want me as a sister, that she is perfectly convinced of her brother’s indifference, and that if she suspects the nature of my feelings for him, she means to put me on my guard? Can there be any other opinion on the subject?”

Elizabeth surprised them both by releasing a yelp of frustration, which caused Jane to rear back in wide-eyed surprise.

“I am sorry, Jane,” Elizabeth said in exasperation, “but you are far too trusting! Of course there is a far more reasonable explanation, and it is this; Caroline sees that Mr. Bingley is in love with you and she wants him to marry Miss Darcy, who is rich and the niece of an earl. She and Mrs. Hurst are following their brother to Town in the hope of keeping him there and are trying to persuade you that he does not care about you. It is entirely absurd!”

“If we thought alike of Miss Bingley,” replied her sister, “your representation of all this might make me quite easy. But I know the foundation is unjust. Caroline is incapable of willfully deceiving anyone, and all that I can hope in this case is that she is deceiving herself.”

Elizabeth swallowed hard and forced herself to take a few moments before speaking. She loved Jane. She adored Jane. But it was frustrating that her elder sister assumed that everyone was as kindly and principled as she was.

“Jane,” she said as steadily as she could manage, “Caroline Bingley looks down on us. I know she does. She, well … when you were sick at Netherfield…”

“What happened?” Jane demanded.

“I was walking in the shrubbery one day with Mrs. Hurst and overheard Miss Bingley conversing with Mr. Darcy. She was openly mocking our Uncle Phillips by comparing him to one of Mr. Darcy’s uncles, who is a judge. You did not hear her tone, Jane!”

“Indeed, I did not,” Jane answered, looking troubled. “But perhaps you misunderstood? What was Mr. Darcy saying?”

“I did not hear what he was saying – his voice is deep and does not carry like Miss Bingley’s shrill tones. In any case, it was a private conversation…”

“Which you ought not to have been listening to,” Jane said with quiet reproof.

“I did not mean to eavesdrop, of course. Miss Bingley was speaking loudly, and Mrs. Hurst and I happened to be nearby.”

“Did you actually speak to Miss Bingley?” her sister asked uneasily.

“Oh yes, we met them when the paths intersected, and Mrs. Hurst was indignant that the others had gone out without telling her. She immediately abandoned me and hurried to take Mr. Darcy’s other arm.”

“That was rude!”

“It was, though I did not mind in the least, as I had no desire to stay with them. Mr. Darcy suggested we shift to the lane to make more space, but I insisted that they stay together so I could ramble alone.”

“That was courteous of Mr. Darcy, at any rate.”

Elizabeth wrinkled her nose and nodded. “I suppose. Given that his first act on seeing me was to insult my beauty, I confess it is surprising.”

Jane regarded her in wonder. “I did not realize that you disliked Mr. Bingley’s family and closest friend so very much, Lizzy.”

Elizabeth blew out a breath. “Well, the truth is that I do dislike all of them except Mr. Bingley, who is as charming and generous a man as I could ever hope to meet.”

“If we do marry, you will need to interact with the rest of the family on a regular basis, and Mr. Darcy is Mr. Bingley’s closest friend.”

“I know, and frankly I find it bewildering. Mr. Darcy is so rude, and his treatment of Mr. Wickham is … well, in any case, I can and will be polite, and of course I will be. I do think you and Mr. Bingley are perfect for one another.”

“If he comes back,” Jane said, looking at her letter, and then repeated softly, “ If he comes back.”