Chapter 1

Hunsford

Kent

11th September, 1811

The Hunsford church smelled like the gardens outside and was just as hot. Every niche and flat spot was carefully filled with flowers cut the day before from Rosing's gardens and arranged in their places by servants. Roses and sweet peas and cosmos perfumed the close, sticky air with large blooms, with tall-cut dahlias and foxgloves standing proudly behind them. Ribbons festooned the ends of the pews, their placement overseen by the exacting Mistress of Rosings. It was pretty enough, in Darcy's opinion, if more than a trifle heavy-handed for such a small gathering.

The rector, a rotund and rubicund man by the name of Collins, stood at the front of the sanctuary, with the Book of Common Prayer open on the lectern in front of him. His bands were very starched and his cassock was very white and his expression was deeply satisfied. Darcy wryly thought that Collins looked on the verge of bouncing on his toes in excitement.

Darcy's aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, sat in the very front pew, looking immensely pleased with herself, her cheeks as red as roses in the humid heat of the church. Next to her was seated Mrs. Jenkinson. Anne de Bourgh's companion for many years, dressed in sedate blue. Behind the two women sat Darcy's other aunt, the Countess of Matlock, who was surrounded by her four children. The viscount was installed next to his younger brother Richard – on leave from the Army and looking resplendent in his red coat – and their two sisters, Rebekah and Amelia, were seated demurely on the other side of their mother.

Alone in the front pew on the other side sat Georgiana Darcy, looking very young. The pale blue of her simple muslin dress matched her eyes but did nothing to bring color to her face, which had been pale and wan ever since Ramsgate. It still made Darcy cold to think of what had nearly befallen his younger sister, how only chance had sent him to the seaside in time to interrupt the planned elopement between his innocent little sister and the consummate rogue who had been deceiving her. Scarcely two months had passed, and Georgiana had not yet recovered from her near miss. But she summoned up a small smile for him, which he returned affectionately.

The organ music started, causing Darcy to jerk slightly in surprise, and the doors at the back of the sanctuary opened to reveal Vincent, Earl of Matlock, with Miss Anne de Bourgh, his niece, on his arm.

Anne's normally pale face was flushed unbecomingly, her body held rigidly in a dress of deep green velvet, more appropriate to a ball than a small morning wedding. The color was no more flattering to Darcy's sallow cousin than was the expensive golden lace that dripped from sleeves and neckline and fell into an overdress that spoke of ostentatious wealth.

Darcy straightened his back and gazed at his bride. She was a thin woman, Miss de Bourgh, soon to be Mrs. Darcy, and not at all healthy. Indeed, Darcy had, for the last five years, delayed in offering for his cousin because he feared she would not be well enough to bear an heir for Pemberley.

It was still a concern, but time was running out; he was almost thirty years of age, and it was high time for him to be married. Moreover, Anne might well improve in her health if she was away from Lady Catherine, who was consistently obstreperous, domineering, and annoying.

Georgiana needed a sister. Anne might not be the best sister given that Georgiana was shy and their cousin was quiet, but Miss Darcy had been too long alone, and Anne would do acceptably.

He hoped.

He was aware of a deep well of disappointment in his soul as his fiancée made the last few steps at their mutual uncle's side and then took his arm. The couple turned toward the rector, Mr. Collins, who beamed down on them and began to speak the familiar words of the Wedding Ceremony from the Book of Common Prayer.

"Dearly beloved," he announced, "we have come together in the presence of God to witness and bless the joining together of this man and this woman in Holy Matrimony. The bond and covenant of marriage was established by God in creation, and our Lord Jesus Christ adorned this manner of life by his presence and first miracle at a wedding in Cana of Galilee."

The problem was, Darcy mused, that he did not love Anne, or even like her particularly. He did not dislike her, either; indeed, he hardly knew her, as whenever they were together, Lady Catherine spoke incessantly and seldom permitted her daughter to speak.

"Therefore, marriage is not to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly," Mr. Collins continued, "but reverently, deliberately, and in accordance with the purposes for which it was instituted by God."

For at least the twentieth time already today, Darcy was shaken by doubt. He was not entering this marriage lightly, but he thought perhaps the union was inadvisable. It was true that his mother, Lady Anne Darcy, deceased for more than a decade, had wanted her only son to marry Lady Catherine's daughter, but really, were they compatible? Would their marriage be successful? Would they despise one another as the Prince Regent despised his wife, Princess Caroline? That was unlikely, as neither Darcy nor Anne was a quarrelsome person. However, it was quite possible that the Darcys would lead separate lives, which, while peaceful, would be disappointing and lonely. His own parents, George and Lady Anne Darcy, had genuinely cared for one another and enjoyed each other's company.

"If any of you can show just cause why they may not be lawfully married, speak now; or else for ever hold your peace."

Darcy felt an odd, alien desire to speak up and say that no, they should not marry, because he did not care for Anne as a man should care for his bride. But that was ridiculous. He had offered, and she had accepted, and there was nothing to be done. A gentleman did not renege on an engagement, and in any case, Lady Anne had wanted this. She might be long gone, but Darcy would do as his beloved mother had asked him to do.

Mr. Collins turned a respectful face toward Miss de Bourgh and bobbed his head meekly and then focused the words of the ceremony again.

"Anne Julia de Bourgh, will you have this man to be your husband; to live together in the covenant of marriage? Will you love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?"

There was a long, odd pause, and Darcy, who had been watching Mr. Collins, turned toward Anne; the woman was standing ramrod straight, her lips pressed closed, her eyes narrowed.

The pause stretched out, and Mr. Collins, his eyes bugging slightly, said, "Miss de Bourgh, you must say, ‘I will' at this point in the service."

Darcy watched as Anne blew out a breath and said loudly, "No! No, I will not marry my cousin, Fitzwilliam Darcy!"

Five seconds passed in shocked silence, and then Lady Catherine was on her feet and hurtling toward the front of the sanctuary. "Anne Julia, you will do as you are commanded…"

"No, she will not!" Darcy snapped, recovering sufficiently to step between mother and daughter. "If Anne does not wish to marry me, she will not be forced to do so!"

"My dear Miss de Bourgh," Collins babbled, "surely, you would not…"

"Anne, how dare you?" the mistress of Rosings snarled. "Now you will say it, right now...!"

"I will not!" Anne screeched hysterically.

"Be silent!" a male voice bellowed from behind them, and mother and daughter obediently stopped talking. Darcy watched as the Earl of Matlock approached with a thunderous expression, which softened when he observed the terror on Miss de Bourgh's countenance.

"Anne," the earl said, and to Darcy's relief, his tone was gentle, "you do not wish to marry Darcy?"

"I do not," Anne said, and Darcy felt a surge of regret as he observed his fiancée shift closer to the earl, obviously for protection.

Lady Catherine had been silent for a full minute, and apparently that was as much as she could manage. "She does wish to marry Darcy! She is merely being foolish and missish!"

"I am not!" Anne insisted, her pleading eyes fixed on her uncle's face. "Lord Matlock, please do not require me to marry Darcy!"

"You must!" her mother pressed. "You have already accepted his offer and are in the very church where..."

"A lady may withdraw from an engagement at any time," Darcy interrupted, and turned to gaze down into Anne's pale face. "We will not marry, of course. I have no desire to wed an unwilling bride."

"But Miss de Bourgh," the clergyman squeaked, "your esteemed mother..."

"Enough," Matlock ordered brusquely. "Mr...?"

"Collins, my lord," the man said, bobbing his head ridiculously. "Mr. William Collins, recently installed at the Hunsford parish due to the munificence of my esteemed patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh."

"Mr. Collins," Matlock said patiently, "is there a room where my niece, nephew, and sister can discuss this is in private?"

Collins spun around with the wide-eyed look of a puppy wishing to please his master and gestured toward a door on one side of the sanctuary. "My study is in there if you would care to..."

"I do," Matlock interrupted and turned to face the rest of his family, who were sitting, mostly silently, though his two daughters and wife were murmuring to one another.

"Stay here while I discuss this matter with Anne, Darcy, and Lady Catherine," he ordered.

/

Longbourn

Hertfordshire

11th September, 1811

The last of the sultry summer heat sat heavy over the house and fields of Longbourn, shimmering off the golden wheat and leaving deep green summer leaves limp and untouched, as yet, by the impending autumn. The drawing room window had been thrown wide to invite a non-existent breeze, and the fireplace lay dark and still.

A silver tea tray sat on the coffee table between the couch and the loveseat. Mrs. Bennet was calmly pouring tea for her sister, Mrs. Phillips, who was seated across from her and leaning forward with enthusiasm, her face animated with excitement. Mrs. Bennet – still quite beautiful at two and forty, her age shown in the gentle crows-feet feathering out from her eyes and the faint lines around her mouth – remained serene.

Elizabeth Bennet, the second of the Bennet daughters, lowered her book – a novel from the lending library in Meryton – to glance first at the matrons, then at her sisters. Lydia and Kitty were not present, and she guessed that they were either outside or in the school room with their governess. Mary sat nearest her mother, in a chair with her sheet music spread out over her lap, paper rustling softly as she studied in preparation for the music master's arrival. Jane rested beneath the window, the sunlight falling on the needlework heaped across her lap. Neither Mary nor Jane was paying any attention to their guest's gossip, Elizabeth noted. She lifted her book, only to lower it again as her aunt began to speak.

"My dear sister Bennet," Mrs. Phillips exclaimed, "Netherfield is taken by a young man of large fortune from the north of England. He came down on Monday in a chaise and four to see the place, and he was so much delighted with it that he agreed with Mr. Morris immediately. He is to take possession before Michaelmas, and some of his servants are to be in the house by the end of next week."

"What is his name?" Mrs. Bennet asked and took a sip of her tea.

"Mr. Bingley!"

"Is he married or single?"

"Oh, single, Mrs. Bennet, to be sure! A single man of large fortune of four or five thousand a year. What a fine thing for your girls!"

"Not merely our girls," the mistress of Longbourn said repressively. "There are many charming young women in the area."

"Yes, but no one is in greater need of a good husband than your daughters," Mrs. Phillips declared. "After all, with the entail on Longbourn and none of your daughters wed..."

She trailed off, and Mrs. Bennet said calmly, "We certainly will enjoy meeting someone new, but I have no expectation that Mr. Bingley shall marry one of my daughters."

There was a snort from the doorway, and Elizabeth looked up and felt her entire body tense as her father, Mr. Bennet, limped into the room, leaning heavily on his cane. The master of Longbourn wore a tight expression and the scar that marked his left cheek seemed especially livid, and Elizabeth felt her heart sink. It appeared that her father was having a particularly bad day, which did not bode well for the rest of the family.

"You are wise to have no expectations, my dear wife," Mr. Bennet declared, hobbling farther into the room and casting a disdainful look at his womenfolk. "I find it unlikely that a man of such great fortune would be interested in our silly, ignorant girls. Indeed, given that Jane is already two and twenty and quite the most beautiful, and yet remains unmarried, I fear I will be saddled with them all until I die."

"My dear Mr. Bennet!" his wife cried out, leaping to her feet, "I am certain our daughters are as beautiful and clever as any young ladies in the county!"

Elizabeth relaxed a trifle and cast a grateful look at her mother. Mr. Bennet might be a most difficult father, but her mother was always willing to intercede to protect her daughters from their father's sharp tongue.

"Oh yes, that might well be true," the master of Longbourn declared, using his cane to make his way over to his chair by the fire, whereupon he sat down. "They are all the same, these young modern women, with their novels and their primping and their fashion! I daresay our girls are no more stupid than any other young women, but that is nothing to boast about."

"You cannot expect our daughters to act as sensibly as we do!" Mrs. Bennet said reproachfully.

"As we do? You are as foolish as the rest, Madame, with your lack of learning and no concern for the future. Not that it matters to me; when I die and join my father in the graveyard, Mr. Collins will doubtless turn you out before my body is cold, but it will be of no interest to me at that juncture."

"My dear sir!" his lady shrieked, even as she darted a commanding look at Jane and Elizabeth. "Pray do not talk of that odious man. I cannot bear to hear his name mentioned. I do think it is the hardest thing in the world that your estate should be entailed away from your own children; and I am sure, if I had been you, I should have tried long ago to do something or other about it."

Mrs. Bennet knew, of course, that nothing could be done about the entail, but it always distracted her husband when she wailed about it; far better that he insult her understanding than her daughters, especially Elizabeth.

"I do believe I had best depart," Mrs. Phillips said awkwardly, rising to her feet.

"We will walk you out, Aunt," Jane said, gesturing at Elizabeth, and the two girls stood up and guided their relation out of the drawing room, into the corridor, and to the front door.

Balked of his favorite prey, Bennet turned on his middle daughter, who had laid down her music and was gazing at him with irritating composure.

"I suppose you are reading Fordyce's Sermons today, Mary?" he suggested sarcastically.

"I am looking over my new music."

"Looking, not playing? Is it too hard for you?"

"It is hard now, yes, but I am working on it," Mary said calmly, and Mrs. Bennet felt herself relax. By the grace of God, her middle daughter was a phlegmatic woman who seemed to brush off her father's criticisms without difficulty. The other four girls struggled more with their father's irritability and disapproval, which was no surprise. Her husband's unpleasantness hurt Mrs. Bennet as well, though she was always willing to attract his ire if it would protect her children because that is what a mother does.

The door opened, and the housekeeper, Mrs. Hill, entered, carrying a cup of tea, which was steaming fragrantly.

"Mr. Bennet, you asked for tea?"

Mrs. Bennet shot the housekeeper a grateful look and said, "Thank you, Hill."

Bennet took the cup with a slightly shaking hand, drank the tea with enthusiasm, and Mrs. Bennet relaxed. Hill knew Mr. Bennet well, and it was obvious that the master of Longbourn was in more pain than usual today, which was provoking his temper. The small quantity of laudanum in the tea would doubtless calm him, and perhaps even cause him to fall asleep, which would be good for everyone in the house.