Chapter 1

One

August 8, 1812

On the road to Longbourn

Be not alarmed, Madam, on receiving this letter, by the apprehension of it containing any repetition of those sentiments, or renewal of those offers, which were last night so disgusting to you. I write without any intention of paining you, or humbling myself, by dwelling on wishes, which, for the happiness of both, cannot be too soon forgotten…

Elizabeth Bennet surreptitiously wiped away a tear by pretending to tuck a coil of hair beneath her bonnet. Mr Darcy's words, penned in such bitterness of spirit four months prior, struck her with a pang beneath her ribs. As if I shall ever forget! Though he must, even now, be congratulating himself on his escape.

Resting her head against the squabs of the Gardiners' travelling coach, she closed her eyes and allowed Mr Darcy's letter to fall into her lap. Yet more tears threatened her equanimity, though she had believed them spent the day before. It had been agonising to leave Derbyshire—and for such a reason!

Thoughtless, thoughtless Lydia! To have run off with a man she hardly knows without any regard for the consequences! I shall never forgive myself if she comes to harm because I failed to warn her of Mr Wickham's proclivities.

Elizabeth was torn between despising her youngest sister for her foolishness and being desperately worried for her welfare. There was no telling what a blackguard such as Mr Wickham might do to her—assuming they were still together—or what sort of awful situations Lydia might be forced to endure. What if she fell ill? What if she were left vulnerable to yet another villain, one even worse than Wickham? The myriad possibilities were too horrible to contemplate.

Even with the best possible outcome—marriage—Lydia would pay a high price for her youthful indiscretions. As Mrs George Wickham, she would face a future of dissipation, deprivation, and depravity; no woman could expect better from a man like him. Her poor sister—the poor, stupid girl—would be chained to him for life because of an ill-considered choice made at the tender age of sixteen. The alternative for Lydia was worse, but presumably not by much. And for this they must hope!

To think that all of this might have been prevented had Elizabeth only made her case more strongly to Mr Bennet in May. She had shared as much information from Mr Darcy's letter as she dared at the time, but she should have done more. She should have revealed Mr Wickham's most dastardly deeds, even if Mr Darcy had not given her liberty to do so. Her father, having daughters of his own to protect, could be trusted with the fragile reputation of a young girl; why had she hesitated? Such a disclosure might have shaken Mr Bennet from his laissez-faire attitude towards his youngest daughters, but she had withheld it for fear of breaking a confidence, albeit a weighty one. What if she had revealed Miss Darcy's folly and her father still had not taken her concerns seriously? She would have risked much for no material gain.

Her rational considerations of many weeks' past were of little comfort to Elizabeth in the present situation. Certainly, the bulk of the blame should fall upon Wickham for taking advantage of Lydia's naivety, but Elizabeth could not help but feel some responsibility for her own failure to speak. Now her sister was ruined and the rest of their family along with her. No one would solicit their society now. Mr Bingley would never return for Jane, and Mr Darcy…

Realising that she was crushing Mr Darcy's letter within her fist, Elizabeth relaxed her hand and frantically sought to smooth it out. A snuffling sound startled her into stillness. A glance at her relations across the carriage found the Gardiners still asleep, thankfully, and unconscious of her doings. She released a relieved breath and pressed the missive against her chest, its secrets still safe.

The rational thing to do would be to dispose of the letter into the next fire Elizabeth came across, but she could no sooner do that than throw her own heart in along with it. It was her last precious talisman of a love which had never been allowed to flourish and was now entirely at an end. If Mr Darcy had been intending to renew his addresses, as she had begun to hope, he most certainly would not be doing so now. Even were Lydia recovered and Wickham made to marry her, no gentleman wished to become brother to the reprobate who had nearly seduced his own sister.

Still, Elizabeth was fully conscious of what the ramifications would be should the letter be discovered. Not that she had much reputation left to protect, thanks to Lydia's ill-advised actions, but whatever remained she ought to guard carefully. It should not be said that all of the Bennet girls were wanton and reckless. Further, it could prove an embarrassment to the man who wrote it and she would never, under any circumstance, wish to cause Mr Darcy any further distress. Her intemperate words from April still haunted her; she would not have additional transgressions on her conscience.

To Elizabeth, it seemed that she and Mr Darcy were destined to be kept apart by one thing or another. If it were not his pride, her prejudice, or some combination of both, it was the unwitting machinations of others. It was as if they were separated by a wrought iron gate; they could see one another, even touch, but there would always be an impenetrable barrier between them. Their story was not meant to have a happy ending.

Lowering her gaze back to Mr Darcy's letter, she exhaled a warbling sigh and traced the precise, even lines with her fingertips. Who would have believed that such an austere man could write with so much feeling?

"You ought not torture yourself by reading and rereading that letter endlessly."

Elizabeth's heart seized; she hastily tucked the bundled pages behind her as her aunt's voice rang out in the otherwise silent carriage. She looked up to find Mrs Gardiner observing her with palpable sympathy. How does she know? Did she…read it?

"I know you are worried over the situation with Lydia—we all are—but there is nothing new to glean from Jane's report and you only distress yourself by brooding on it. For all we know, by the time we arrive at Longbourn, Lydia will have been found and all of this ado will have been for nothing."

It was several stuttering heartbeats before Elizabeth's alarm subsided and she could assure herself that her correspondence from Mr Darcy remained secret. Of course, Mrs Gardiner believed she was poring over Jane's missive informing them of Lydia's sorry situation—that would be the most logical assumption.

Being fully aware of Mr Wickham's past crimes made Elizabeth sceptical of her aunt's optimism, but her advice was kindly meant. Swallowing, she replied, "You are perfectly right, Aunt. I ought not to assume the worst. Perhaps it all will turn out well in the end."

She forced a smile and turned her gaze out the window where the passing scenery was growing more familiar by the minute. They would be home within a few hours and all possible pretence would be at an end.

At Elizabeth's back, Mr Darcy's letter crinkled with her at every bump and jostle, reminding her of what lay behind them in Derbyshire.