Chapter One

Longbourn, December 1810

T he night was as black as pitch, and the single candle Elizabeth Bennet carried into her sister Jane's room offered barely enough light for them to see one another's faces. Even so, Elizabeth knew that Jane's trunks were piled up at the foot of her bed, just as hers were, one remaining unlocked until the morning for a few final items.

"Lizzy," Jane whispered, "I am grateful for this opportunity to help my family, you know that I am. But . . ."

"But you want to marry for something more than wealth," Elizabeth said, finishing the sentence that Jane had let trail away.

Jane sighed. "Yes. Is that ungrateful? Mamma would have had me out in society years ago if we had not convinced her to wait for the money to grow enough for a season in London. And after we have studied and saved and sacrificed—after we have memorized Debrett's until we have the names dancing in our heads—I find I lack the courage to proceed. "

Not that either of them planned to make much use of Debrett's. Elizabeth took her sister's hands. "What troubles you, Jane?"

"So many things. What if a rich gentleman makes an offer, but I do not like him? What if there are two gentlemen who notice me—how am I to choose without hurting anyone?" She looked down at her hands and at last spoke her true fear. "What if no man notices me at all?"

With her head bent and her beautiful countenance aglow in the candlelight, Jane appeared truly angelic. Elizabeth could not help but laugh a little.

"Jane, let us make a wager."

" Elizabeth ."

"Oh, stop. The one who is correct only wins the right to lord it over the other."

Jane's cheeks pinked, and she nodded. "What is it, then?"

Elizabeth crossed her arms over her chest. "I say that by Easter you will have at least one offer of marriage."

"Elizabeth," Jane groaned again, rolling her eyes. "You love me, so naturally you believe everyone else will, too."

"I do believe it. Everyone of value, at least. Now in my case . . ."

"You will have suitors swarming like bees on a flower." Jane held up a wagging finger when Elizabeth protested. "You have no idea how people are drawn to you, and Papa and Mamma are not likely to point out your warmth or wit or charm. You are not treated as you should be by our family, dearest."

Elizabeth smiled weakly at her sister. "There has been little difference between my treatment at school and here at home."

"I love our parents, Lizzy, but they have always been selfish." Jane shook her head when Elizabeth opened her mouth to speak. "You know they are, dearest. And Lady Henrietta and her friend Lady . . . "

"Pen. Penelope."

"Yes, precisely. They were the same. They disliked you because the other girls at school admired you so. It did not suit their understanding of rank and status."

"Not this again. The other girls avoided me." Just like Mary, Kitty, and Lydia had.

"They were afraid."

"So was I," Elizabeth said softly enough that Jane had to lean forward to hear.

Jane took a deep breath. "Then we must be brave together."

"Indeed," Elizabeth replied stoutly. "One benefit to a season in town is that we may rely upon one another and our own good sense, without interference from anyone else."

Jane threw her arms around Elizabeth in a swift embrace. Elizabeth returned it, squeezing hard before they both settled back against the headboard. She took a deep breath. "I am sorry that neither Papa nor Mamma understands why I insisted we wait so long to access our funds. But you do, do you not?"

"Of course," Jane said immediately. "Not only have the Carlisles offered to host us, we have now arrived at the moment when our chances of making a good match are at their peak. Thanks to you, we have enough saved to be respectable choices in terms of fortune, and we are of a good age to marry—neither too young nor too old."

Her sister's acceptance meant everything to Elizabeth. "It is not thanks to me, but I appreciate your understanding nonetheless."

After a short silence, Jane said, "It was truly kind of Amelia's uncle and aunt to offer to sponsor us. For connections we could not provide—but now we can, if only in a small way. "

Elizabeth wondered whether that particular connection would be of use beyond a place to stay and a chaperone. Amelia had insisted they be invited, which had indeed been very kind, and after meeting Jane and Elizabeth when they stayed with the Gardiners last autumn, Lord and Lady Carlisle had agreed. Being sponsored by an earl and countess alongside their own niece had been an unexpected boon, but living in Carlisle House for the entire season could be difficult if Amelia's family felt the Bennet girls had been foisted upon them.

Well, that was a matter for tomorrow.

"Jane," Elizabeth said seriously, "I want us to make a promise to one another."

"What is it, Lizzy?"

"Promise me that if you cannot find a man you admire and respect, and who admires and respects you in return, that you will not agree to marry. Even if you are asked by the wealthiest man in London. Even if he promises to move Mamma into a palace when Papa dies one day."

"Of course I will," Jane replied, with only a slight hesitation. "It is what I hope for. But I must exact the same promise from you."

This was an easy promise for Elizabeth to make. Other than the Gardiners and Jane, she had been disappointed so very often. Being the object of her father's resentment and her mother's ire for the past four years had left its mark. She would be very careful who she wed. "I promise. And yet . . . I must have respect and admiration, but I fear I want something even more."

"Trust?" Jane asked.

Elizabeth closed her eyes. Jane knew her better than anyone. Sometimes even better than she knew herself .

"I trust you . And Uncle and Aunt Gardiner." She hugged her knees to her chest and rested her chin atop them. "No, though I suppose trust must come first, what I truly want is love ."

"Love," Jane repeated solemnly, reaching out to take Elizabeth's hand.

Elizabeth unfolded herself to take it, and nodded. "Love. Nothing else will do."

Her mother did not see them off, for they were leaving very early. She had said her farewells the night before, mostly to Jane. To Elizabeth, she had issued a warning.

"I have no doubt Jane will make an excellent match, but you cannot count on the same, Elizabeth. Do not waste your funds on frivolities, for you and your younger sisters shall have need of them."

"Farewell, Mamma." The feeling of injustice was wrapped up tightly and pushed down deep inside with all the others.

Jane had scolded Mamma, but their mother never listened.

The horses snorted, and one struck at the ground with his hoof, reminding Elizabeth that it was the morning and they were about to depart.

"Farewell, girls," Papa said from behind them, and they turned. There was a smile on his face, though Elizabeth often had a difficult time discerning whether his smile meant he was pleased with her or would say something hurtful that he believed amusing. He handed Jane a letter. "Lord Carlisle will be better able to assess your potential suitors than I. Give him this, and he shall be at liberty to marry you both off."

Jane stared at the letter.

"Enjoy your husband-hunting. Send word if you need beaters to assist you. "

Elizabeth flinched at the insult, then chastised herself for doing so. Papa was referring to the men who beat the bushes so that birds would fly into the path of a hunter's gun. Her father was still bitter that the solicitor had never allowed him to touch her fortune, not even the interest. He was angry that she had been allowed to share the money with Jane, but not with him. Elizabeth knew she ought not expect him to be happy when they were to have a season in London using that money.

That he most likely intended to put the funds to good use—to help the other girls or to make repairs to the estate—was of little consequence. In no time, Mamma would have harangued him into spending it all on fine dresses and refurbishing Longbourn, beginning with the public rooms but no doubt moving swiftly to her private chambers. Good intentions were not enough.

"You should be pleased, Papa," Jane was saying. "This is why you sent us off to Mrs. Buxton's school in the first place, is it not?"

To that her father had no reply.

"Your plan was a success," Elizabeth added, unable to keep the words from tumbling out now that they were leaving at long last. She turned to look him straight in the eye. "And all it took was a fire."

Jane waited silently for Elizabeth to enter the coach. Then she was also inside, and their father was calling for the coachman to drive.

The sudden movement threw them back against the squabs, but they righted themselves quickly and glanced at one another.

Jane stretched her hands out before her. "I am shaking."

"You were brilliant."

"So were you." They rode in silence until they turned onto the road that would take them through Meryton. "Lizzy," Jane said softly, "shall we ever return to Longbourn? "

Elizabeth shook her head. She had not told Jane her plan before because she could not be certain her sister would agree. "Not unless you wish it. But I shall not. If we do not find husbands, Uncle Gardiner will find us a house in the country somewhere. We have enough money to live nicely on the interest, and Papa will not exert himself to retrieve us. Even if he did, Uncle Gardiner would prevent it."

"He is not in town this season, nor will Aunt Gardiner be."

"But he will return before the end of it. That was his promise. June."

Jane's gaze was fixed on the floor of the coach. "What about the girls?"

She meant Mary, Kitty, and Lydia. "If they feel they will not be polluted by living in a house with their greedy, ungrateful sister, they may join us, of course."

For once, Jane did not attempt to soften Elizabeth's words. She stared straight ahead and asked, "Then—we are free?"

Elizabeth laid her head on her sister's shoulder. "We are free."