Chapter One

Elizabeth

Longbourn, Hertfordshire

Two Years Later

E lizabeth Bennet paced the length of the garden, allowing the long grass to brush against her palm. At the end, near the white gazebo her father had built himself when she was small, she paused and turned.

From here, she could see Longbourn in its entirety rising before her. Smoke billowed out of the chimney, and through the open window in the back she saw their housekeeper Hill, and Maisie, their kitchen maid, bustling about.

Were they preparing refreshments for their guests? Or glasses of wine to make a toast upon the good news? Was there good news? She glanced at the stately carriage outside her parents' home, two bay horses stood patiently at the front while the coachman had taken a seat under a nearby tree, waiting just as she was—albeit it less anxiously so, she was certain.

For today was the day Elizabeth and her family had been waiting for. The day Mr Charles Bingley of Sheffield proposed to Jane. Or at least, so she hoped. There was a chance he was here for some other business.

"Has that dress displeased you," a deep voice came, tearing her from her contemplation. She looked up, lips slightly parted when she spotted the voice's owner, and internally groaned. Mr George Wickham strutted towards her, his head held high and a bright smile on his lips.

"Good day, Mr Wickham," she said politely but, in her mind, already sought an escape route.

"Good morning, Miss Bennet. Now, the dress? Has it upset you or do you always clutch your clothing as if your life depended upon it?" he asked and nodded his chin towards her hand. It was only then she realised that she'd held her pale-yellow gown's skirt clutched between her fingers all this time. She let go and noted that the muslin was now crumpled beyond help. With a sigh, she shrugged.

"Just a little out of sorts," she admitted.

"Because of your visitor? I've heard all manner of gossip in town about Mr Bingley's visit." He leaned in closer, the scent of his heavy cologne enveloping her.

"Congratulations are in order, I hear," he said with a wink. Her stomach clenched and she took a step away. The truth was, if she didn't know Mr Wickham was a philanderer, she might have been charmed by him.

No, she had been charmed by him, as much as she'd like to forget it.

When he'd first arrived in Meryton, to call on a friend in the military stationed nearby, she'd thought him handsome and witty, with tales of his travels around the country as a wine merchant and his experience at Eton college. His attention had been flattering as it had been widely sought by her fellow unwed ladies.

However, since then she'd learned he was not a wine merchant but rather simply employed by one. In addition, he'd attempted to court a great many ladies in her vicinity, and the criteria for his attention appeared to consist of just one factor—the wealth of his intended.

Having failed to secure a courtship, for most of the young ladies' considerable fortunes in Meryton were well protected, he'd sights on her. What had given him the idea the Bennets were wealthy, and merited such attention, she didn't know. Although she had noted an increase in his affections towards her around the same time word spread that Mr Bingley was interested in her sister…

Cynical? Perhaps, but Elizabeth's father had always taught her to trust her instincts.

"We certainly are hopeful to receive good tidings, Mr Wickham but pray, how are you so confident," she asked.

He smirked at her and bent at the waist again as if they were involved in a confederacy of two. "I overheard Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley at the market. They are not pleased." He grimaced and chuckled as if this was a fabulous joke.

"Is that so? I did not know you were friendly with them," she replied and set into motion back towards the house. Perhaps once she got to the door, she could discreetly part ways with him by pretending to be needed inside. The last thing she wanted was for her mother to see them together, for it might give her ideas. She had already made her opinion of Mr Wickham known, deeming him handsome, gentlemanly, and charming.

"I would not say that I am although I did share a pleasant dance with Miss Bingley at the Netherfield ball. I came by the information rather by accident—they were not exactly speaking quietly," he said with a smirk. "It seems they did their best to dissuade Mr Bingley from marrying your sister but failed."

Elizabeth seethed inside. This was of course not news to her but she hated it to be spread in this manner. Poor Jane would be devastated to hear that her potential sisters-in-law were continuing to spread such ill will, and loud enough for people like Mr Wickham to hear.

"Well, I can only hope for my sister that they did not succeed," she said coldly but Mr Wickham waved a hand.

"Do not fret, Miss Bennet. I am not intimately familiar with Mr Bingley, but from all accounts there are only a few people who wield any influence over him, and the one who could have dissuaded him is no longer in his life," he said in a cryptic tone. Elizabeth narrowed her eyes.

"And who would that be?"

Mr Wickham grinned again. "You've not heard of his former friend? Mr Darcy of Pemberley?"

Elizabeth had heard of this elusive friend of whom Mr Bingley spoke of at times in a most sorrowful tone.

"The one whose house caught fire? He mentioned him," she said, wondering what this had to do with anything and just how Mr Wickham knew Mr Bingley's friend. Or former friend, as they were no longer in contact.

"The very one. I have the misfortune of being closely acquainted with Mr Darcy, a fate I would not wish on anyone. You see, my father was Mr Darcy's father's steward, and they were very close. After my poor father departed this earth, Mr Darcy took me on like a second son. He was the epitome of a fine, upstanding gentleman. Unlike his son who was always… shall we say, on the haughty side. He was rather rude and is generally not liked, especially now," his lips contracted as if he'd taken a mouthful of oversalted porridge.

"I am surprised Mr Bingley was friends with such a man," Elizabeth pointed out, but Mr Wickham only carried on with his tale.

"Mr Darcy is the sort who values those on what he considers to be his level. Everyone else is beneath his touch. He always hated that his father valued me so much, in fact, he attempted to keep my inheritance from me," he said gravely. This piqued Elizabeth's attention for such a thing was truly unheard of.

"He did? Why?" She wrapped her hands around herself and wetted her lips, awaiting his answer.

"Out of spite. You see, his father left me a living. At Kympton. It would assure my future, but Mr Darcy attempted to force me to give it up and take a financial settlement instead. I refused. In fact, the living is vacant now and I intend to take my rightful place. It is my duty," he said in a rather self-important tone. "The people there need me, especially now that Darcy has turned his back on them."

Elizabeth took a deep breath, the sweet scent of the nearby flower beds penetrating her nostrils. She was rather tired of hearing about this man who played no role in her life or Mr Bingleys, yet Mr Wickham appeared determined to ensure she knew just how horrid a man this Mr Darcy was.

"I heard he is a recluse now, due to a fire?" she'd heard Mr Bingley speak of his friend in a most troubled way. Their long friendship appeared to have ruptured sometime after a terrible fire roared through the Darcy home and left the man in question terribly scarred.

"He is and I will say, the world is better for it. Nobody ought to be subjected to Mr Darcy's venomous personality, which has only grown worse since the fire. I had the misfortune of encountering him once after the incident to pay my respects. I was well familiar with several of those who died and… Well, shall we say his appearance now matches his personality?"

"That seems rather unkind, Mr Wickham," Elizabeth censured him, not keen to hear such judgements. "I heard his younger sister perished in the fire, surely that will affect a person's life deeply." She shuddered, wondering how she would manage should she lose one of her sisters.

"It was a shame. Miss Darcy had the potential to be better than her brother though she was influenced by him, of course. Before he got between us, she and I were quite friendly and…"

His speech was fortunately interrupted when the door opened, and she saw Mr Bingley emerge. He caught her eye and lifted his top hat, waving it over his head in greeting. Even from the distance she could see his smile—the smile of a man most satisfied with his visit. Next emerged Jane, followed by their parents all of whom looked rather pleased.

"Mr Wickham, I must excuse myself," she said, grateful to cut the conversation short.

His lips parted and his eyes widened as if alarmed by her sudden haste. "Miss Bennet, I wanted to ask you if you'd like to take a turn about the market with me accompanied by your dear mother, of course. I could really use your expertise in books for I am…"

She blinked, impatient to get away and hear Jane's news. "I will be at the market on Thursday, Mr Wickham. I shall see you there, no doubt," she said and then hurried towards her family, aware it was a little uncouth to leave their guest standing in the garden. However, right now, all she could think of was Jane.

She watched as Mr Bingley boarded his carriage, not wishing to create a spectacle, but the moment the horses had carried the vehicle down the road she rushed to her sister who likewise closed the distance between them.

"Oh, Lizzy" Jane called, delight filling her voice. "He has made an offer. I am to be Mrs Bingley, can you believe it?"

Elizabeth clutched her sister's hands and beamed. "I told you he would, did I not? He adores you. When will the wedding be?"

Jane's pale cheeks reddened. "He tells me he does not wish to waste a moment and thus wants the bans to be read starting this Sunday at his parish and mine. Then, we are to be married at Netherfield by the end of next month."

Elizabeth's eyes grew wide. "That is only six weeks away, oh Jane, how wonderful!"

"It is, we shall have a honeymoon and then go up north to find a house for us near Sheffield," Jane explained while their mother hurried over towards them.

"A house in Sheffield. That I do not agree with. What is wrong with Netherfield? Did he decide not to purchase the estate? I thought he liked it here. Surely you can settle there once you are wed," Mrs Bennet said, a disapproving frown on her forehead. Oh, how quickly her mother forgot that she'd fretted for weeks for this day to come. Now that it was here, she was already ready to find something to be dissatisfied about.

"You know that is where he is from, these Northerners do so hate to be away from home and since Mr Hurst owns a house in Town, there is no need for another so close," Jane said in her usual pacifying tone.

"Oh well, I shall simply have to come and visit you there. I'll have to bring your sisters, for how can Mr Bingley introduce them to his wealthy friends when he is all the way in Sheffield?" her mother stated and crossed her arms.

"But are not his wealthy friends in Sheffield also," Elizabeth offered. It took her mother a moment to grasp her meaning, but then she smiled.

"You were always the clever one, Lizzy," she said and gave her a small pat on the arm. "Oh, and you of course Jane. To set your cap on a man like Mr Bingley was clever indeed," she added but then her lips puckered in alarm.

"Is that Mr Wickham walking away? Did you leave him standing in the garden Elizabeth?" she demanded.

"He came to call on me but is leaving now,' she said, rolling her eyes at Jane who nodded in understanding. While most of Meryton had grown aware of Mr Wickham's character, Mrs Bennet continued to hold him in high regard.

"How could you, Lizzy? You must make sure he feels welcome," she chided her. "He would be a good match for you. A wine merchant has a secure line of work."

"He tells me he is to take a living at a church up north," Elizabeth informed her mother who wasted no time switching her argument.

"Even better. A vicar's wife leads a good life. Your friend Charlotte ought to tell you that, given she is well settled at Hunsford now with Mr Collins. That could have been your position," her mother said. Elizabeth closed her eyes at the mention of her cousin, whom her mother had attempted to marry her off to earlier in the year.

She'd resisted and her friend Charlotte had taken her place rather willingly, much to her mother's chagrin.

"Mother, I have no desire to court Mr Wickham, please do not push me, not on a day as joyful as this," she begged and to her relief, her mother dropped her shoulders and looped her arm under Elizabeth's.

"You are quite correct, Lizzy. Today we should celebrate Jane's special day. Besides, Mr Bingley will see to it that you make a good match. What is that friend he likes to talk about? The one who has ten thousand pounds per annum?" her mother asked without leaving a pause for Elizabeth or Jane to reply. She looked at her sister, whose smile appeared affixed to her face permanently.

She'd miss her sister immensely, but she knew Mr Bingley would be a good husband for her—and perhaps one day, she too would find her perfect match. Although she knew one thing for certain, his name would not be George Wickham—or Mr Darcy.