Chapter 1

September 1812

T wo men departed from Mr Frank Phillips's law office in Meryton, riding in a large, comfortable, and well sprung travelling coach with a family coat of arms emblazoned on the doors. A guard sat on the box next to the coachman, a postilion on the lead horse of the matched team of four, two large footmen were on the rear bench, and two outriders rode alongside, one either side. Inside were two friends who, although from very different backgrounds, had met at Cambridge University and become close.

One was Fitzwilliam Alexander Darcy, called William by family and some very close friends. His estate was Pemberley in the county of Derbyshire and he was the scion of nobility, the grandson of the late Earl of Matlock, and nephew to the current holder of that peerage. Recently he had celebrated his seven and twentieth birthday with his broken hearted and humiliated sister, Georgiana Darcy, called Gigi who was not yet sixteen.

When Darcy was fourteen and his sister two, their mother (Lady Anne, sister to the current earl) passed away. So deep was his sense of loss and the immeasurable grief he felt at losing his soulmate, their father had withdrawn largely from his son and daughter, and from society as well. Robert Darcy had followed his wife to heaven about five years previously leaving his son, at barely two and twenty, master of a massive estate as well as three satellite estates. Additionally, he, along with his cousin and best friend, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, who served in the Royal Dragoons, had been appointed guardian over a then ten year old girl.

Darcy was tall, well over six feet in height, with dark wavy hair and piercing blue eyes. Being a fastidious man, he was always immaculately turned out wearing finely tailored clothing. His valet, Carstens, always made sure his master's cravat was well knotted, not like the dandies who followed Beau Brummel's every fashion choice, but an intricate knot none the less.

The other man, seated against the other side of the conveyance on the forward facing bench, was Charles Arthur Bingley, the son of a tradesman. He was trying to rise above his roots and join the ranks of the landed gentry, and Darcy was with him to advise him as he did in many areas of his friend's life. This aim had led the two men to Netherfield Park this day, and then to the solicitor's offices which they had very recently departed.

Bingley was the middle child of three who had been born to Arthur and Mavis Bingley of Scarborough—both taken by influenza some two years past. The late Mr Bingley had been a wealthy merchant who had been able to provide his daughters with dowries of twenty thousand pounds. Louisa, the eldest Bingley, had married Harold Hurst six months before the Bingley parents were called home. Hurst was from the minor gentry, not nearly high enough for the likes of the youngest Bingley, Caroline. The latter was extremely high in the instep.

Bingley had been left a fortune of close to one hundred thousand pounds and a charge in his father's will to do that which Arthur Bingley had not lived to do—purchase an estate. The twenty plus miles from London to Meryton had been the first step Bingley was taking to fulfil his late father's dream.

"You know Bingley, you could have thought about whether or not to sign the lease for more than a few minutes once we had seen the property," Darcy admonished .

"It should be no surprise to you that when I decide to do things, I do them with speed. Did you not opine all was in order with the house and the estate and other than one or two inconsequential items, you found no problems?" Bingley verified.

"Yes, I did say that," Darcy confirmed exasperatedly. "It would be better if you took some more time to consider things before making a decision, especially something as consequential as choosing an estate, even if only for a one year lease."

"The estate met all my criteria. It is close to London, I could sign a lease for only a year, and the agent told me there was another party interested in the estate for longer than one year, so I had to sign now or lose the property," Bingley explained.

"You are far too gullible at times," Darcy averred. "Stating there are other interested parties is a common tactic to get someone to make a decision with alacrity." Given his sister's suffering, trying to explain the benefits of taking time with a big decision was further souring Darcy's mood. He should not have left Gigi, even if it was with his aunt, Lady Elaine Fitzwilliam, the Countess of Matlock.

Bingley could see his friend's mood darkening again, as it had since the summer past. At that time, Darcy had even rescinded invitations to join him at Pemberley in August—something he had never done before—and withdrawn from society even more than was his wont. He decided he needed to change the subject.

"You will join me when I take residence in a fortnight, will you not? You did agree to assist me in learning to manage an estate," Bingley reminded his friend.

"As long as I am not needed for a family issue, I will keep my word," Darcy promised, "however, if Miss Bingley does not regulate her behaviour towards me, or you are unable to check her, I will take my leave."

Miss Caroline Bingley who was three and twenty had set her cap at Fitzwilliam Darcy—or more accurately his fortune, estates, and house on Grosvenor Square from the time her brother spoke about his new friend—even before she had laid eyes on the man.

She was unfortunately rather crass, an inveterate fortune hunter, and social climber who had decided she would rise to the top of the first circles and gain membership to the Ton by means fair or foul. From the time she had been introduced to Mr Darcy she would attach herself to his arm, ignoring the fact he never once offered it to her. She would not merely rest her hand on his forearm as was acceptable, but rather she wound her arm around his, and sank her talons in, so unless he was willing to physically separate himself from her—which he was—she would hold his arm possessively.

Once Bingley had come out of mourning, Darcy had invited him, and him alone to Pemberley, however, he had arrived with his sisters and brother-in-law. Bingley had had the decency to apologise saying he had given up in the face of his younger sister's screeching when he had said the invitation did not include her. He had invited his older sister and her husband so Louisa could try to temper the youngest Bingley's worst excesses of bad behaviour. Since seeing the estate, Caroline Bingley's hunt only intensified. Darcy had come close to throwing her out of Pemberley due to the rude manner in which she treated his servants, and the way she acted as if she was the mistress.

So far, none of the times he had spoken to Bingley had resulted in a change of his younger sister's behaviour. Due to the apparent lack of control Bingley exerted over his younger sister, no further invitations—other than the one Darcy had rescinded—had been forthcoming to Pemberley for the Bingleys. In London, after the only time Miss Bingley had been at Darcy House and her extreme fawning over his shy sister had made her decidedly uncomfortable, he only met Bingley at one of the clubs to which they both belonged.

"I have told her you are not interested and will not even give in to a compromise, but my sister hears and sees only what she chooses to," Bingley stated plaintively.

"Then my friend, if she makes an attempt, she will ruin both herself and you," Darcy responded with a shake of his head. "Unless you find a way to check her, you will end up paying for her behaviour almost as much as she would. I suggest you tighten the purse strings; it is the only thing which will garner her attention."

"You may have the right of it," Bingley agreed. "I will speak to the Hursts about this."

"And Bingley, I suggest you do not make her the mistress of the estate," Darcy recommended, "I can think of no one less suited for that role."

Bingley was about to state it would cause a tantrum, but then he realised this may be a way to ensure his friend would not leave sooner than planned. "I will speak to Lulu…Mrs Hurst, and request that she keep house for me."

~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~

"Netherfield Park is let at last," Fanny Bennet crowed as she entered her husband's study without him bidding her to do so. She was flapping her lace trimmed handkerchief as if she was in the Royal Navy and trying to signal another ship. "Oh Mr Bennet, what a fine thing for our girls."

Bennet pinched the bridge of his nose at this unwelcome intrusion into his sanctuary. He needed to remember to lock the door. "Mrs Bennet, have you not heard of knocking?" Bennet demanded sharply. He ignored the affronted look on his wife's face. He knew until his wife told him what she decided she needed to; he would not have a moment's peace. Better to get it over with now. "What, pray tell, has a new tenant at Netherfield Park to do with our girls? "

"Hattie had it from Frank that a wealthy man from the north purchased a year's lease," Fanny gushed. "A wealthy man, Mr Bennet! He will do well for Jane; she could not be so beautiful for no reason."

"He may be married," Bennet riposted.

"Oh no Mr Bennet, Hattie assured me he is unmarried!" Fanny insisted.

"And we know your sister is never mistaken with her information, is she?" Bennet stated, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Unfortunately, in Bennet's opinion, with her limited intelligence even after four and twenty years of marriage, Fanny Bennet did not understand her husband's wit, and sarcasm went right over her head. Hence, he did not get the reaction he had hoped for.

"No Mr Bennet, my sister's information is always accurate," Fanny huffed and stamped her foot in a manner her youngest daughter was wont to do.

"Of course it is. Now what is your purpose in telling me this?" Bennet was fully aware his wife would tell him whether he asked her the question or not.

"Mr Bingley, that is what Hattie told me his name is, and his party will take up residence on the final Friday of this month. You must be the first to call on him and issue an invitation to the Michaelmas assembly on Tuesday following. Then he will return your call and see Jane and fall under the power of her charms. Once he sees Jane's beauty he will not want to look at any of the other young ladies in the area," Fanny burbled her brand of logic.

"You may call on this Mr Bingley, but I will not," Bennet asserted.

"Mr Bennet how you like to vex me. You well know I cannot call on an unmet gentleman at his home! You must call on him otherwise he will not marry Jane," Fanny insisted. "With the estate entailed away, Jane must marry a wealthy man so we will not be thrown into the hedgerows by that odious Mr Collins before you are cold in the ground."

"I repeat, I will not be calling on him. He is welcome to call on me here. There is no reason to bestir myself from my bookroom," Bennet returned. "Please tell me why he would choose Jane, mayhap he will want an intelligent wife like Lizzy."

"No man will ever want that hoyden who you favour," Fanny screeched. "You have turned her into a bluestocking, who traipses all over the estatewith her hems six inches deep in mud. This is all her fault. If she was not so wilful, she would have been born a son!"

As was his wont, when Fanny denigrated his favourite daughter, he said nothing to check her, but rather grinned as all was as it should be. The resulting argument and hysterics was enough of a deterrent, but that was combined with his not wanting to trouble himself. "Be that as it may, I repeat: I will not call on the man, single or married," Bennet stated as he waved his wife away.

"My nerves! Oh, what spasms and palpitations I suffer. How could you Mr Bennet! You have no concern for my nerves," Fanny cried as she forced some tears from her eyes forgetting her husband had long been inured to that tactic.

"On the contrary, Mrs Bennet, your nerves have been my constant companion these four and twenty years," Bennet averred. "Close my door on the way out if you please."

His wife turned and stomped her way out of the study, slamming the door with enough force to rattle several books in the bookcases which lined the study walls, except for where the door and window were. "Hill, my salts!" Fanny screamed as she made her way back towards the drawing room.

Hearing the result he had desired, Bennet was well pleased.

~~~~~~~/~~~~~~ ~

That evening while Jane was braiding her younger sister's hair after Elizabeth had done the same for her, Elizabeth turned before Jane had completed the plait she was making. "You heard Mama going on about the new tenant who will be living at Netherfield Park, did you not?" Jane nodded her head and then gently gripped Lizzy's shoulders to turn her so her back was towards her to complete the braid. "I think I saw them when they came to view Netherfield Park. Well I saw two men, and based on Mama's effusions that was when the estate was let."

"What did you see? I am sure you were on one of your rambles," Jane smiled as she tied the ribbon which would—hopefully—hold her sister's wild, wavy hair in place.

"I saw two men who arrived in a large coach. I had walked the three miles to Netherfield Park when I saw Uncle Phillips meet them. One has strawberry blond hair; he is about the same height as our uncle. From that distance—I did not want to reveal myself—I could not see their features clearly. The other was much taller than our uncle and had dark hair, even darker than my own."

"Mayhap Aunt Hattie's information is true for once and one of them is single," Jane surmised. "There were no ladies you saw with the men were there?"

"There were not, but that means nought," Elizabeth averred. "The men could have come to see the estate and will only bring their wives if they think it is worth them viewing the manor house."

"However, the fact a lease was signed by this Mr Bingley gives lie to that supposition," Jane opined, "unless he cares not what his wife thinks of the home of which she will be mistress."

"As long as this man, if he is single, is not anything like Mr Hawthorne who wrote you those plagiarised verses he claimed as his own when you were sixteen," Elizabeth smiled and Jane put on a look of outrage, which only caused Elizabeth to giggle.

Nigel Hawthorne had leased Netherfield Park for two years, and had been a single man of five and thirty summers. He had been captivated by Jane's beauty and had, of course, been encouraged by her mother to pursue Miss Bennet. After some months of inept courting on his behalf, he had written Jane verses which he had claimed as his own.

Unfortunately for the man, Jane showed the poetry to Lizzy, who immediately identified them as written by John Donne and copied from The Good Morrow . At first Jane, who always wanted to give people the benefit of the doubt, asked her younger sister if she could be in error. All doubt was removed when Lizzy had led Jane into their papa's study and had opened the book to the page where word for word were the verses Mr Hawthorne had insisted were originals written by himself.

When knowledge of what he had done was made known far and wide in the neighbourhood, via Hattie Phillips's lips—after the same Fanny Bennet who had wanted the man as her son-in-law told her older sister—an embarrassed Mr Hawthorne had quit the estate and had never been seen in Meryton again. To date, if anyone brought up the reason the man had left the area, Fanny claimed she knew not of what they spoke.

Their father had made much sport of the occurrence, making his wife the butt of his jokes, in private as well as in more public settings. Elizabeth had expressed her mirth along with her father.

"If not before, hopefully we will meet the Netherfield Park party at the assembly upcoming," Jane mused.

"I anticipate there being some interesting characters for me to sketch," Elizabeth stated.

Like her father, she liked to take other's measures and, like him, she very seldom allowed for the possibility she was in error. Once she had made her sketch, she would not revise her opinions.

Jane and Elizabeth climbed into their shared bed and Jane blew out the one remaining lighted candle on her side. "Sleep well, Lizzy."

"You too, Janey."