Prologue

December 1812

It seemed wholly appropriate that the clouds were thickening and the wind growing stronger as Elizabeth made her way along the path. She had slipped away from her family and prayed no one had seen her leave Longbourn. She dreaded the prospect of their questions if they had.

He was waiting for her. Elizabeth did not know how long he had been standing by the pine trees she had named as their meeting spot, and she did not care. Stopping some fifteen feet from him, she pressed her lips together, pushed her shoulders back, and silently invited him to say what he would. No matter how much it injured her, she would not let him see it.

“How are you?” he asked.

She shrugged. Since he was the one who wanted to meet, he should bear the burden of speech. As resolute as she was determined to be, she was afraid that if she opened her mouth, too much would pour out—too many emotions and accusations.

After running both hands over his face and letting out an audible gust of air, Mr Darcy paced back and forth along a short section of the path. “I…I intended to return, I truly did, but—” He made an inarticulate noise, and it was a moment before he continued. “I am sorrier than I can say that I…could not. You will want to know what happened. You have every right to know. I am aware that Lady Catherine visited you.”

Elizabeth gritted her teeth, both at the remembrance of that woman’s deplorable behaviour and because she began to see why Mr Darcy had abandoned her. Lady Catherine had made her displeasure clear to him, just as she had to her. A fire began to rage in her belly.

“After seeing you, she came to London,” Mr Darcy said. “My aunt announced to my family that I was on the point of making an unsuitable match.”

“Were you?” Elizabeth interjected, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice. At the moment, she could not believe she would accept him if he were to propose.

His feet abruptly stopped moving, and he almost stumbled. He regarded her for a long moment, and something in his eyes melted a layer of the ice that was wrapped around her heart.

The truth was that she would not have hesitated to agree to be his wife; she would have thrown herself into his arms and cried tears of joy. She loved him. It was why she was presently so wretched and nearly sick with distress. Straightening her spine, she resolved anew to be stoic.

“Lady Catherine said she had it on good authority that I was about to propose to you,” Mr Darcy continued. “I do not know who told her. My family demanded to know whether what she said was true. What could I say? It was. They were not pleased by your position in life, but when they heard about your family’s connexion to Wickham, they…had a great deal to say—none of it good.”

“They objected?” Elizabeth had to suppress an angry bark of laughter. Her hands curled into fists.

“Strenuously and repeatedly.”

“Were they as disgusted by the idea of having a woman such as me as a relation as you said they would be last spring? Was it too much for you to overcome, or did you simply remember that it would be disgraceful to connect yourself to me, given I have relations in trade? You have met my aunt and uncle, invited them into your home, showed every sign of liking them, and yet you can?—”

“You do not understand,” he insisted, stepping towards her.

“Shall I congratulate you on your marriage to Miss de Bourgh? It cannot be long in coming. You were quick to give in to your family’s demands to forget about me. Surely you will also accede to their wishes regarding which lady you should make your wife.”

“No!” he cried, his expression suggesting confusion. “I care nothing about my uncle and aunts’ opinions, but?—”

“I refuse to continue this conversation. There is nothing you could say that would make me understand the choice you have made.” Elizabeth turned to walk away. She felt his hand touch her arm.

“Elizabeth—”

Spinning to face him, she hissed, “I do not give you leave to use my name! You forget that my sister is married, and I am Miss Bennet henceforth—especially to you. If we have the misfortune to meet again, you will address me as Miss Bennet until I find a man who will not reject me because of my connexions and lack of fortune. Until I find a man who is truly worthy of me.”

He blanched. “The situation is complicated. Please allow me to explain. This is not easy for me, but I have responsibilities.”

“Oh yes, of course you do, and an association with a lady of my sort would preclude you from fulfilling them. I understand. Do not spend a second of your precious time worrying about it.” Her tone was mocking, and as she spoke, pink spots appeared on his cheeks, either ones of anger or guilt.

“You do not understand.” He spoke quietly this time, and the look he gave her was one of longing, but she was too trapped by her hurt to admit it.

“I think I do, well enough. After everything that has happened, after how horrible I felt for misjudging you last spring, everything that passed between us in Derbyshire, everything I believed, you have decided that because your family does not think I am good enough for you, you will not have me. When it comes to the point, your family objects, and I am rejected. Goodbye, Mr Darcy.”

When she began to walk away, he called her name, and she heard the unmistakable sound of his boots stepping on twigs and dried leaves. There was no escaping him if he wished to pursue her. Her only hope lay in convincing him that she would not listen to more of his excuses. Without halting her steps, she spoke. She strove to keep her voice strong, though she knew it faltered.

“There is nothing to gain by continuing this conversation. Do not be so ungentlemanly as to force me to hear you when I do not want to!”

With that, she picked up speed and, after several minutes, accepted that he was not following her.