Chapter One

Lake House

Ramsgate

July 5, 1812

Elizabeth

Dear Sir,

I hope this missive finds you well. My name is Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and I write at the behest of my relations. As requested by the property manager, I have compiled a detailed inventory of the house, its contents, and any repairs deemed necessary upon taking residency. Mr Smythe, the butler, has verified this list.

Immediately noticeable upon entry are the green tracks of paint—likely left by a cat—marring the steps and the landing. Mr Smythe assures me they have been present for some time and that he can acquire a rug to cover most of the mess.

Additionally, there is a crack in the glass of the parlour window. Mr Smythe informed me that he ordered a new pane, but he does not expect delivery for another fortnight. The parlour, sitting room, dining room, and music room have no other issues to speak of.

The master’s and mistress’s suites are in good repair, save for the door that adjoins the rooms. My brother informs me that the handle is broken, and the door will not latch properly. He insists it will be no bother to them, but I record it here, nonetheless.

I reviewed all the furnishings of the house at length, after the staff catalogued them. Everything is in order, and we will conduct another review before we vacate the residence at the end of the lease.

As we have now taken possession of the house, please direct all correspondence here rather than to Netherfield Park.

Thank you for your assistance in seeing us well settled.

Yours, etc.,

Elizabeth Bennet

~

July 1810

The Lake House

Ramsgate

Darcy

Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy sorted through the post, arranging it into neat piles. There was a letter for Georgiana, several bills, and a letter from his steward. As he neared the bottom of the stack, he frowned. The unfamiliar handwriting caused him to pause, and he examined the missive closely.

The letter had the address of his solicitor in London, Farnsworth-Durham, written on it. The hand was feminine, and he flipped it over to check for a return direction. E. Bennet, Lake House, Ramsgate.

What in the world…? Darcy hurriedly broke the seal and unfolded the letter. He skimmed it and then read it again, more slowly. What mischief was this? The Lake House, leased? Preposterous! He studied the letter and noted the date— July 5, 1812? How careless of the author of the missive to make such an egregious mistake! With a scoff, he tossed the paper aside. Whomever had sent it was certainly hoping to gain something from him.

Though angered by the presumptuous miss who dared to pen such drivel, his curiosity had taken hold, and he picked the missive up again. Darcy continued to examine the sheet of paper in his hands. It was thick and of good quality, a sure sign that the sender had access to finer things. The writing was elegant, and each line was straight and clean. There were no blots or improperly spelled words, either.

Miss Elizabeth Bennet, he mused. He had never heard of any Bennets; clearly, the author of this bit of fiction was not of the first circles. He searched the letter for any further hint of the lady’s identity, and his gaze settled upon the last two sentences. Netherfield Park. That was most certainly the name of an estate, which gave him a starting point.

Shaking his head, Darcy wondered what he was thinking? Certainly, it would be more prudent to burn the letter and be done with this nonsense. This Miss Bennet must surely be seeking to entrap him. She had done her research well, disguising a letter to him as one to his solicitor so that she could claim… what?

Frowning, he folded the letter. He pulled a drawer open and stuffed the offensive thing inside, resolving to consider the matter later. A clock chimed somewhere in the house, and he stood, stretching. Tea was to be served shortly, and he was more than ready for it.

Crossing his study in three long strides, he opened the door. The soft tones of the pianoforte drifted through the house, drawing him towards the music room. His fourteen-year-old sister Georgiana sat before the instrument, her tongue between her teeth as she played the same passage again and again. She stumbled over the notes and growled, slamming her hands on the keyboard before closing the lid with a bang.

“Careful, Georgie, lest you damage it,” Darcy admonished with mock severity.

His sister sighed. “I cannot get it right,” she lamented, folding her arms and sticking her lip out in a pout. “I have been practising all morning, and I continue to make the same error!”

He smothered a smile. Georgiana would not appreciate the humour he saw in the situation. “Perhaps it is time to leave the pianoforte for a while and partake of some tea.” He walked towards her and extended his hand. “Come. I have reason to believe that Cook has added lemon tarts to the fare this afternoon.”

Georgiana brightened and unfolded her arms to take his hand. Darcy helped her to her feet and escorted her from the music room, walking the short distance down the hall to the parlour where a lovely tea awaited their arrival.

Carefully, Georgiana poured for both of them. Darcy was pleased to see the improvement in his sister’s skills. School had been of some benefit to her, despite her frequent complaints about being away from him. Her pleas had not gone unheeded; he had removed her from the establishment for the summer and hoped that she would be ready to return come autumn.

As she ate her lemon tart, Georgiana sighed in pleasure, and Darcy hid another grin. She was very like their mother; Lady Anne Darcy had adored lemon tarts and made no secret of her preference when she partook.

“What say you to a stroll on the beach after tea?” Darcy asked at length. Georgiana nodded enthusiastically, dabbing her lips with her serviette before replying.

“That sounds very agreeable,” she said. “I have been inside all day; the cool sea breeze would do me good, I think.”

“How have you progressed with your studies today?”

She frowned. “I finished my French and my history. You heard how my pianoforte practise fared.”

Darcy smiled encouragingly at his little sister. “You will master it,” he assured her. “There has not been a piece of music yet that you have not conquered.”

His flattery succeeded and Georgiana smiled. “I know. It is only very frustrating that I cannot seem to get the fingering right in that section. Perhaps you can hire a master for me when we return to London in September.”

Darcy frowned. “You know you are to return to school in the autumn,” he admonished.

Georgiana turned to pleading. “Oh, please, Brother! I beg you not to send me back. School is unbearable! There is nothing taught there that I cannot learn at home!”

“School is not only about learning academics and comportment. It is also about forming connexions and lasting friendships.”

“I have connexions aplenty,” Georgiana insisted. “Everyone at school is interested in me only so far as learning how to get closer to you. ”

Darcy glanced up from his cup in surprise. “What? You have never said such before. What can you mean by it?”

Georgiana fiddled with the beading on her skirt. She bit her lip and looked up at him. “I tried, Fitzwilliam, I did,” she whispered, her voice laced with misery. “Every time I thought I had found a friend, it was only a matter of time before they began asking pointed questions about you. And if it was not about you, they were speaking of their brothers and how eager they would be to introduce me to them. I hated it! By the end of my term there, I kept to myself, only joining the other girls for lessons and meals. If that is what it means to form friendships and connexions, I can do very well without both!”

“Why did you not tell me?”

She sniffed, tears welling in her eyes as Darcy watched. “I thought it was my fault. I thought there was nothing likeable about me. Maybe that was why no one wished to be my friend.”

“There is nothing wrong with you, Georgie,” Darcy insisted. “Unfortunately, it is the way of our world. People seek connexions and fortune, and often hide their true purposes behind a mask of supposed friendship. My circle is rather small for this reason. I do not have many close friends besides Bingley and our cousin Richard.”

“How am I to know whether one’s motives are pure or not?”

“Experience will teach you to see through the false characters. It is sad that we must learn by being hurt, but such is life.”

Georgiana sipped her tea in silence, clearly mulling over his words. Darcy felt assured that she would gain something from their conversation.

“If you still feel the same way when we return to London, I shall send out inquiries. You will need a companion, and a music master is a necessity.”

His sister’s spirits lifted considerably. She set her teacup aside and launched herself into his arms. Thankfully, he had set his cup down, and his arms were free to catch her.

“Thank you, Brother!” she cried happily.

Darcy patted her back, and she released him. “Shall we take that stroll on the beach now?” he asked.

She nodded, and the pair returned their teacups to the tray before departing the room. Whilst donning his hat and gloves, Darcy reflected on his conversation with his sister. It was such a pity that young Georgiana learned so soon that even strangers would prevail upon her acquaintance, hoping to create a better situation for themselves. The letter in his desk drawer came again to his mind, and he resolved to pen a reply to the impertinent miss on the morrow.

They spent a pleasant afternoon strolling along the beach. Georgiana found several shells for her collection, adding them to the sack her brother held, which they had brought specifically for that purpose.

“I shall need another bowl soon,” Georgiana said to him as she placed a treasure into the sack. She spoke of the large vessel on her bedside table, a considerable-sized container filled with all kinds of things she had collected from the beach over the years.

“I will browse the shops for one tomorrow,” her brother promised.

“Are you to visit the village then?”

“Yes.”

“Might I come with you?” Georgiana turned pleading eyes towards him, and he smiled affectionately.

“No, you cannot,” he said with a grin. “Your presence would defeat my purpose.”

Understanding dawned on her face. “Oh! You are looking for something for me!”

“Indeed. It is your birthday next week. Fifteen! How quickly the time has flown.” His heart tightened. Georgiana had become grown. All too soon, she would make her come out and suitors would swarm around her like bees to a flower. Darcy felt utterly unprepared for such an event. He was grateful that there were still three years until that time.

Georgiana linked her arm through his and squeezed.

“Have you any particular requests?” he asked. Shopping for his sister had been so simple last year. Now, he hardly knew what would please her.

Georgiana considered his words. “A recent novel would be nice. And you must not forget to look for a new treasure bowl.”

Darcy breathed a sigh of relief, glad to know Georgiana’s simple tastes would make his task much easier. “And should I instruct Cook to prepare anything special?”

“Lemon tarts!” was her instant reply. Her enthusiasm caused him to chuckle, and she playfully swatted his arm.

“I will inform Cook.” He gently squeezed her hand and turned back towards the house. They changed for dinner and after a quiet meal and a peaceful evening, he and Georgiana retired.

~

The next morning, Darcy was back in his study. After completing a letter to his steward and declining several invitations, he retrieved the strange missive out of his drawer for another review. After Georgiana’s disclosures at tea the day before, Darcy felt far less willing to burn the letter and simply ignore its existence. He needed to squelch Miss Bennet’s attempt at ingratiation as swiftly as possible. A harsh, unyielding reply was in order. With resolve, he pulled a fresh sheet of paper towards him and dipped his quill into the ink pot. He thought for a moment and began to write.

The Lake House

Ramsgate

July 6, 1810

Dear Madam,

I am utterly astonished to have received a letter of this nature from an unknown person. This flagrant attempt at making the acquaintance of the Darcys is beyond the pale. Never have I experienced such a display! I inform you now that your schemes will not come to fruition. I refuse to allow anyone to blackmail me or force me into a situation not of my choosing. If compromise is your aim, know that no force in the world can compel me to extend an offer of marriage to anyone not of my choosing. Should you wish to risk your reputation, the consequences will rest solely upon your head.

If you mean to curry friendship with my dear sister hoping she will forward your cause, once again you mistake the matter. Miss Darcy is not one to be bought. She has encountered such machinations before and risen above them; she is not so easily deceived by false friendships. Had she not told me of her sorrows only yesterday, I would have consigned your letter to the fire rather than granting you any consequence by way of reply.

Let me disabuse you, madam, of any further notions surrounding an acquaintance with the Darcys of Pemberley. Neither I nor my sister will acknowledge you. Your methods might have found more understanding or fruitful ground had you not openly displayed your duplicitousness. First, you falsely claim that your relations have leased my home and address this missive to my solicitor in London; yet it somehow arrives at my doorstep. Then, you reveal your lack of sense by dating your letter incorrectly—July 5, 1812? What madness is this? I assure you, madam, that it is the year 1810 and has been so since the first of January.

You did not even bother to determine that my railing is blue, not green, with no tracks adorning the stoop. Nor did you observe that my parlour window is completely intact.

I will write to Farnsworth-Durham immediately, informing them of your despicable efforts and warning them to consign any letters from you to the fire. I will not be put upon by an upstart; if your name carried any weight, surely it would be familiar to me.

I shall waste no further words on you, madam. Cease your paltry efforts at once.

Yours, etc.,

Fitzwilliam Darcy

He signed his name with a flourish and reread the missive. His tone in the letter was hard and unyielding, precisely as he intended. The interloper who received it deserved nothing less; he reserved compliments and pleasantries for proper friends.

Pleased with his work, he sanded and sealed the letter, pressing his signet ring into the hot wax. He stood and walked to the entrance hall, placing the letter atop the outgoing post. Miss Elizabeth Bennet would not bother him any longer.

Darcy straightened his coat. Smythe appeared with his hat and gloves. “Thank you,” Darcy said, donning the hat. “Is the carriage ready?”

“It is, sir,” Smythe replied. His faithful butler opened the door, and Darcy walked out into the warm sunlight. He boarded the carriage, and the footman closed the door with a soft snick.

Leaning back against the squabs, Darcy pulled out a small notebook and examined his list. As he read, a niggling sense of guilt came over him. Perhaps his reply to Miss Bennet was a touch too harsh. It was of no matter, though. What was done was done, and he would leave the unknown miss in no doubt of his sentiments. Georgiana would be safe from at least this false friendship and would have nothing to worry about.

The carriage drew up before the bookshop, and Darcy alighted. Pushing the lingering guilt away, he entered, determined to find the perfect novel for his sister’s upcoming birthday.