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Chapter 1

December 22 nd , 1812

Miss Anne de Bourgh, heiress to the vast estate of Rosings as well as a secret novelist, woke up with a start as the carriage hit a large bump. She winced and stretched her cramped body before looking around at the other three women traveling with her.

Georgiana Darcy, her cousin, was staring out the small window at the side of the door. Anne was substantially older than Georgiana, and they had never spent much time together. When they had been in company, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, Anne’s mother, had also been present. Lady Catherine was an overwhelming individual and always dominated conversations. Thus, Anne felt that her young cousin was something of a stranger.

Mrs. Annesley, Georgiana’s paid companion, was seated next to her charge. The lady was a widow in her forties and a very comfortable, pleasant woman.

“Are you warm enough, Miss de Bourgh?” a voice inquired next to Anne.

Anne turned with a smile to her own companion, the rather weedy Mrs. Jenkinson, also a widow though a decade older than Mrs. Annesley.

“I am warm enough,” she assured Mrs. Jenkinson, allowing her eyes to twinkle. Their relationship was a multilayered one; to most, Mrs. Jenkinson was a down trodden companion who spent her life hovering over Anne. In reality, Mrs. Jenkinson was a sharp eyed observer of life as well as an excellent editor; together, she and Anne had written two novels and a number of well-received short stories.

“I believe we are in Meryton,” Georgiana exclaimed, leaning closer to the window.

Anne looked out curiously at the small town where her cousin Darcy had originally met his bride, the former Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn. It seemed a small town like many other small towns, with butcher and book shops and an ironmongery, and no doubt would always hold a fond place in her cousin’s heart.

She smiled to herself happily; really, the Lord Almighty had given her a tremendous gift. Darcy was no longer her potential bridegroom, and since Lady Catherine had focused on Darcy marrying Anne for literally decades, there were no other suitors waiting in the wings. Anne truly had no desire to marry, and while her mother might at some point find her another prospective husband, it would likely be a while. Catherine de Bourgh had been incandescent with rage when Darcy had appeared with Elizabeth as his bride, and was now ensconced back at Rosings, no doubt bullying the servants and the new parson who had replaced the current master of Longbourn, the obsequious and thoroughly annoying Mr. William Collins.

“When is Richard coming?” Georgiana asked timidly.

Anne looked at the girl sympathetically. Georgie was a shy person and was no doubt dreading her introduction to an unknown house filled with new relatives by marriage.

“Richard is coming to Netherfield on Christmas Eve, Georgiana,” she explained. “He told me that his military duties require him to stay in London until the day before Christmas.”

Georgiana nodded dumbly and Anne felt a surge of protectiveness toward the girl.

“Mrs. Darcy and Mrs. Bingley are kind and generous women,” she continued. “I am certain you will enjoy yourself, Georgiana.”

“Yes, they are wonderful,” her cousin replied, perking up a little. “I confess to some uncertainty about their younger sisters. We met them briefly and they are rather ...”

She trailed away, and Mrs. Annesley finished her sentence.

“Lively and very boisterous.”

There was a thread of disapproval in Mrs. Annesley’s tone, and Anne cast a thrilled glance at Mrs. Jenkinson. Anne was very well read thanks to her deceased father’s extensive library, but she had lived most of her life entombed at Rosings, watched like a hawk by her overbearing mother. It sounded as if this house party at Netherfield would be a complex mixture of disparate personalities, all fodder for the literary mill. How delightful.

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