Chapter 1

The Gardiners' Rental House

Ramsgate

Kent

July, 1811

"We will return by four o'clock," Elizabeth Bennet said to her cousins' governess, and Mrs. Simpson smiled and replied, "Enjoy yourself, Miss Bennet."

Elizabeth was certain that she would, and she smiled in response. She stepped out of the door of the rental house and onto the cobbled street with Milly, one of her Aunt Gardiner's maids, at her heels. Elizabeth drew in a deep breath of slightly salted air and began marching to the east, toward the sea.

The afternoon sun, though well past its zenith, was warm across Elizabeth's back, and she was grateful for the straw bonnet protecting her neck. Milly, striding beside her, reached to adjust her own cotton cap down a little further. The street they were walking along, lined with modest houses, was largely quiet, with only a few other pedestrians out and one carriage that rattled over the cobbles.

From the corner ahead and the next street over, the noise of traffic was a little louder, and Elizabeth could see several coaches and carriages ahead, crossing through the intersection of a busier thoroughfare. Pedestrians were briefly visible, along with gentlemen on horseback, with small boys and dogs darting along the street.

Elizabeth, country bred as she was, was more used to the quiet of a neighborhood road, but her interest was piqued by the glimpse of the bustle ahead of them. Her companion seemed rather ill at ease, however, and Elizabeth looked over at the maid.

"They will be fine," she said as she observed Milly turn a worried look toward the house they had left a few minutes previously. "The children are fed and well cared for, with Mrs. Simpson and Agnes to look after them."

"Yes, Miss," Milly replied, "I am merely concerned about the mistress. She is so tired, and the children are still not entirely well."

Elizabeth sighed and nodded in agreement. She had been invited to spend a few weeks with her relations in London the previous month and had arrived just in time for illness to invade the Gardiners' house on Gracechurch Street. Elizabeth had, to the relief of everyone, avoided the influenza which had sickened three of her cousins and her aunt, but the last weeks had been exhausting, and the journey from London to Ramsgate had been long, dusty, and tedious. She was thankful to be here at last, and hopeful that before long Mrs. Gardiner would recover her full bloom. The children, too, while they had recuperated more quickly than their mother, would benefit from the clean air and cool breezes of Ramsgate on the sea.

"I know," she said, "and I am most grateful for your care of her and my cousins. But you are doing me a favor by coming with me, since my aunt is not comfortable with me wandering off by myself."

"And she is right, Miss," the woman replied firmly. "You are a gentleman's daughter and ought not to be walking alone."

Elizabeth sighed but held her peace. She was accustomed to solitary walks at her family's estate in Hertfordshire and even in the village of Meryton, which was but one mile from Longbourn, her home. It was exasperating to be forced to bring a companion for her walks, but at least Milly was country-bred and able to keep up with Elizabeth's brisk stride.

The two women turned a corner and came to a simultaneous halt, and Milly exclaimed, "It is wonderful, is it not, Miss?"

"It is," Elizabeth whispered as she stared in amazement. A wrinkled blanket of blue-green spread out before them, embroidered with white sea-foam atop cresting waves and a golden sun-glitter that no thread could ever truly match. Toy boats glided smoothly and slowly across the blanket, white handkerchief-sails billowed out in a stiff breeze too far away for her to feel. Though they looked small from the street, Elizabeth knew that each ship carried dozens of soldiers, ready to head for the continent and fight the Corsican tyrant.

"It is," Elizabeth repeated a full minute later and took in another deep, rapturous breath before turning to stroll along the boardwalk which paralleled the sea.

A white line wavered across the water, a wave cresting in silent majesty, too distant to be heard. A gull skimmed the surface and rose again with its catch, wheeling on the wind to rejoin its companions. Further away, a small splash and a spreading ripple from a fish leaping out of the water. The breeze picked up, tugging at bonnet-ribbons and loose curls of hair.

The crowds were thicker here, and Elizabeth and her maid found themselves drifting along with the streams of people, many of whom spent no time looking at the brilliant sights of the ocean. Perhaps if one lived here, it was easy to take sea and sky for granted.

She, however, found herself wishing to stop every minute to gaze at the great waters which stretched out to the horizon, deepening as they went. It was wild and free and glorious, and she was suddenly aware of a deep sense of awe for her Almighty Father, who had made all this.

"Let us step in here!" she suggested, gesturing at the little wooden platform which extended outward to the ocean. Two other women were already there, bending over a painting easel, but there was plenty of space for Elizabeth and Milly to walk over to the low balustrade and stare out at the endless waves rolling toward them.

"It is so big, Miss," Milly said. "It looks like it must stretch to the end of the world."

"It does look that way," Elizabeth agreed, and sighed. "In truth, it is only some forty miles to the French coast, where our soldiers are fighting so bravely."

Milly nodded, and they were silent for a few minutes, enjoying the wind on their faces and the cries of the gulls circling overhead. Elizabeth felt something ease in her chest. Mrs. Gardiner had sickened badly, and there had been a time when Elizabeth had feared for the life of her aunt. But the danger was past, and Ramsgate was far healthier than steamy, smoky London. It was good to be here.

"Oh, bother!" a feminine voice exclaimed from her left, and Elizabeth turned in surprise toward the two women sitting at the easel.

The younger of the two, a mere girl in her mid-teens, had pale blonde ringlets and blue eyes and was dressed becomingly in a sprig muslin dress, with a chip straw hat on her head. The woman next to her, who looked to be at least thirty years of age, had dark hair and wore simpler garments. A lady and her companion, perhaps?

The girl, who had noticed Elizabeth's gaze, flushed miserably and looked down at the ground. Elizabeth hesitated over whether to respond or move away. There was no one to introduce them, but the girl appeared so embarrassed and shy that Elizabeth decided to step forward and smile. "Are you painting? I am certain it must be very difficult."

The girl looked up and managed a wavering smile in return, and the older woman said, "It is, but the most important thing is to keep trying. It is only through practice that one can improve."

Elizabeth nodded in agreement, and after a moment of uncertainty, gestured at the easel. "May I see it?"

The girl bit her lip and bobbed her head, and Elizabeth took a few steps over to look at the painting with interest.

Thin charcoal pencil lines sketched over the paper, outlining beach and rocks and sea, along with three ships depicted on the ocean's rippled surface. One corner of the painting had started to come alive with color, ranging hues of blue watercolor seeping across the page. It lacked the breathtaking technical skill of the paintings Elizabeth had seen in her father's books, but it was charming and remarkably true for a young lady's sketch. The colors already applied were beautifully vibrant, bringing sky and sea to life.

"I think you have done a very fine job with it," she said after a minute, bestowing an approving look on the girl. "I cannot draw at all and am especially impressed with your depiction of that ship there."

The girl looked at the ship in question, and her smile grew wider. "Thank you very much, Miss…"

She trailed off, and Elizabeth said, "Miss Elizabeth Bennet, from Hertfordshire. I arrived in Ramsgate only today with my aunt and her children."

"And I am Miss Georgiana Darcy, and this is my governess, Mrs. Younge. It is pleasant to meet you."

/

Matlock House

London

Fitzwilliam Darcy, master of the vast estate of Pemberley in Derbyshire, was annoyed.

He had been pleased to receive a dinner invitation from his aunt, Lady Matlock, and had eagerly accepted. His business had occupied his time so fully of late that there had been few opportunities to visit his relations and acquaintances. He had entered Matlock House, and his pleasure had vanished like smoke up a chimney as he observed the drawing room full of guests. Four eminently eligible young ladies would be sharing the table with them, along with their parents.

He stripped off his gloves, frowning, and executed a perfect bow to his aunt's guests. As little as he liked the situation, he could not be greatly surprised about it; his aunt was an avid matchmaker at the best of times. His cousin, the viscount, was successfully married through Lady Matlock's machinations, and one of his female cousins too. Now, with Richard on the Continent fighting the French, Darcy had become the object of her matrimonial ambitions. Lady Matlock was determined that her nephew would marry well and had set out to find him a bride with wealth and connections equal to his own.

Thus it was that he found himself seated at dinner next to Lady Diana Barrington, a handsome young woman with a substantial dowry whose father was a marquis, whom Darcy had met once or twice before. She had come out the previous season and had not wanted for admirers, but had accepted none of them. Now it seemed Lady Matlock had chosen her as a possible bride for Darcy.

Darcy himself was concentrating heavily on the table before him in lieu of Lady Diana's rather dull conversation. Lady Matlock had ordered an expansive dinner, varied and delicious. Beef and pork and fish sat between asparagus and apple pie and white soup and pudding and potatoes and fruit and peas and carrots. He had a portion of ragout on his plate, alongside several vegetables, and was eating steadily.

"Of course, the weather is dreadfully hot," Lady Diana said in a languid tone as she cut a piece of beef into dainty bits.

Darcy shoved a bite of ragout into his mouth and chewed vigorously, even as he shot an indignant look at his aunt. Lady Matlock was immune to glares, though; she merely returned his gaze with raised brows and a slight nod of her head toward Lady Diana.

Darcy sighed softly and turned back to the lady in question, who was looking vaguely aggrieved, presumably at his silence.

"Yes, it has been hot," he concurred. "Does your family intend to leave Town soon?"

"I fear not. My father, as you doubtless know, is high up in the government and…"

Lady Diana continued to ramble on at length, obviously intent on boasting about her family's connections and power, while Darcy spoke as minimally as possible without being overly rude.

He knew, and accepted, that Lady Diana was an excellent match. Her father was a marquis, her mother the daughter of an earl, and she herself was well educated and, based on her claims, an excellent performer on the pianoforte and the harp, along with speaking French and Italian with reasonable skill.

It said much for Darcy's contrary nature that none of this mattered in the least. Yes, when he chose a wife, he would expect the lady to be accomplished, and while he did not care greatly about Italian, he did believe that any woman worth her salt would love books.

But he wanted more than an icy queen who flaunted her abilities some of the time and complained about the weather or the dusty streets the rest.

He suppressed a sigh. He was eight and twenty and had been in London for many a Season, and still had never met a woman who stirred his heart in the slightest. He was not certain if he ever would, and while he was not so very old, at some point he would absolutely need to marry in order to sire an heir for Pemberley. Was he, perhaps, hoping for too much? He took a sip of wine and composed himself, then turned toward Lady Diana again. Perhaps if he instigated a topic of interest, she would respond.

"Do you enjoy Shakespeare?" he asked.

"Oh yes, especially the tragedies! There is so much pathos, and sorrow and, erm, poignancy. A few months ago, I went to a production of King Lear and the Duke of Sussex was in the audience, you know! Oh, and Lord and Lady Jersey were in attendance as well…"

Darcy kept his face blank and suppressed a moan. She was dreadfully dull, Lady Diana, and he could not bear to think of marrying her.

Unfortunately, he could not bear the thought of marrying any of the women he knew.