Chapter 1

1

6 February 1813 - Netherfield Park, Hertfordshire

Elizabeth Bennet glanced in the mirror as she placed the final pin in her hair. Stark black gown. Pale face. Her eyes burned from lack of sleep. Her muscles pleaded with her to rest in bed to rejuvenate her exhausted body. But, for the sake of the babies, she could not.

During the days since Jane…

Wrapping her arms around her stomach, Elizabeth barely kept from doubling over from the constant ache that throbbed since her sister’s death. Would the pain ever end? Allowing herself only a moment to grieve, she focused on the two bundles of bittersweet joy Jane left behind, Charlie and Clara.

Although only days old, the twins already displayed strong characters. Charlie liked to snuggle until he fell asleep. Then, he wanted to be left alone. Clara allowed an embrace but then demanded her independence until she insisted that she be returned to her brother’s side. They were but a few days in the cradle when Elizabeth watched as Clara squirmed until her forehead touched his shoulder. Then, and only then, the little lady rested in peaceful slumber.

Since their birth, Elizabeth could not recall the last time the twins slept at the same time, allowing her, the wet nurses, or the housekeeper to rest for more than an hour before they were needed. Nevertheless, each time Elizabeth approached the cradle, the angelic faces of Charlie and Clara made the fatigue as nothing.

Little Charlie stretched as much as he was able in his swaddling bands, his mouth moving into half a smile as his eyelids flickered from pleasant dreams. Darling Clara’s forehead furrowed, her lips pursed, apparently displeased with her nocturnal musings. Her eyes popped open when the floorboards squeaked when Elizabeth stepped close.

“My lovely lady,” Elizabeth whispered, kneeling on Clara’s side. “The hour is late. Would you not rather rest, dear one?”

The babe wrinkled her nose in displeasure. When Elizabeth slid her next to her twin to where their shoulders touched, the tension melted from Clara. Perhaps it was because she was the eldest that she needed to be in contact. She was also the loudest when she was displeased.

Mrs. Carter, Clara’s wet nurse, approached, lifting the tiny babe into her arms.

“We best get you changed and fed, little missy.” Clara, though small, protested until she was again warm and dry. She hungrily suckled, pleasing Mrs. Carter and Elizabeth.

Mrs. Williams, Charlie’s nurse, checked on the lad. Seeing he slept, she returned to her bed.

Five days and nights of the nurses tending the child in the most intimate act between a nursemaid and a newborn fostered a closeness that Elizabeth envied. Jane planned to nurse her child since their mother did the same with all five of her daughters, claiming that God formed a woman’s breasts for that purpose. Whether that was true or not, Jane insisted that she would be the woman to bond with her babe, not a stranger.

However, there was not just one child born that horrid night. Not five minutes after Clara arrived, the midwife anticipated the afterbirth. Instead, a head full of dark hair appeared with a gush of blood. Charlie’s birth was difficult, so difficult that the bleeding, once it started, could not be stopped until Jane was…no more. Oh lord! Would the emptiness ever go away? Her eyes welled up.

Lifting Charlie from the cradle, Elizabeth marveled at his tiny size. His arms, legs, fingers, and toes were long and skinny. His nose and ears looked too big for his head. His chest was sunken, his belly swollen. When his swaddling clothes were off, his hair stuck straight up like thin spikes. He looked more and more like a little gent each day, but he still had a long way to go and much weight to gain.

Slowly rocking back and forth, Elizabeth cuddled her nephew as he slept. She deeply grieved for her sister in between those moments of sheer joy with the twins. Jane would have been an excellent mother.

At a soft tap on the door, Netherfield Park’s housekeeper entered, wringing her hands, tears dripping from her chin.

Elizabeth’s heartbeat quickened. Was something wrong? “Mrs. Nichols, pray tell me what has happened. How might I be of service?”

When she hesitated, panic shot through Elizabeth’s veins. She laid Charlie back in the cradle, approaching the housekeeper. For as long as Elizabeth could remember, Mrs. Nicholls oversaw the house of Netherfield Park, the neighboring estate to the Bennet property of Longbourn–and she did not ruffle easily.

Finally, Mrs. Nicholls blurted, “Miss Lizzy, Mr. Bingley is gone.”

“Gone?” Elizabeth looked out the window into the darkness. “Where would he be at such an hour?”

When there was no easing of Mrs. Nichol’s distress, Elizabeth led her to a chair, increasing her anxiety. Elizabeth stiffened her shoulders, preparing herself for more bad news. “Where has Mr. Bingley gone?”

After wiping her eyes, the housekeeper said, “This afternoon, Mr. Bingley received a letter from his sisters that sent the master into deep despair. He ordered his horse, marching out of the house without even a coat. I asked one of the grooms to accompany him. Then…” She sniffed before resting her head on the back of the chair, a tear trailing down her cheek. “Then I was busy preparing rooms for the Hursts and Lord and Lady Armstrong’s arrival, supposing that was the purpose of their missive. I suspected that Mr. Bingley was at Longbourn with Mrs. Bingley’s loved ones. I gave no notice of the time.”

“Yes, and…?” Elizabeth, too, would have thought the same.

“The groom returned….”

And? Elizabeth’s hands shot to her cheeks, her eyes piercing Mrs. Nichols. Breathlessly, she asked, “Where is Mr. Bingley?”

“He is dead, Miss Lizzy.”

Elizabeth’s legs wobbled. Dropping into the nearest chair, her mouth gaped open. He is dead, Miss Lizzy.

Shaking her head, she said, “What? How can that be? I am sorry, Mrs. Nicholls but that simply cannot be. He is too young. He has babies to care for. He is needed here.” Her pitch rose with each word until they echoed in her ears, and she feared she would wake the twins.

“I am deeply sorry, miss. According to the groom, Mr. Bingley rode like a madman for miles until his horse was lathered. His mount was unable to make the jump over a rocky ravine. Mr. Bingley was thrown…the horse needed to be put down.”

Covering her mouth, Elizabeth made a valiant effort to muffle her screams. “No. A thousand times, no!”

Clara, then Charlie, began to cry, the sound seeping into Elizabeth’s awareness.

Good lord, the poor babies. What would happen to them? What was she to do? Orphans. Such a painful word that she could barely utter.

When her life was ebbing away, Jane begged Elizabeth to protect the babies and look after Bingley. Then, she was no more. Now, Charles… This was not supposed to happen!

Tears streamed down her cheeks. Soon after Bingley and Jane wed, they asked her to stand as the godmother for their future children. She readily accepted, grateful for the honor, never dreaming it would be necessary for her to fulfill the role. There was nothing she wanted more than to do as Jane asked her. But how? She had no lawful authority to protect the twins and no money with which to provide care. Although Elizabeth adored her sisters and parents, she was not blind to their weaknesses, the predominance of selfish indolence. They would be no practical help. How could she care for Charlie and Clara on her own?

Every curse she had ever heard threatened to spew forth. Gulping for breath, Elizabeth fought for control. Wiping the dampness from her cheeks, somehow, some way, she would keep her promise.

The rain outside fell in a steady stream for most of the journey, matching Darcy’s mood. Muddy roads and steep hills on the route from Pemberley to Hertfordshire made traveling perilous. As temperatures dropped, his temper was frayed from the cold and lack of sleep. Day turned into night, yet Darcy could not rest. He could not imagine Bingley’s emotional state. The poor man!

Changing horse teams at each station, his driver and one of Pemberley’s grooms valiantly pressed on. When they arrived at Netherfield Park after an impossible two long days on the road, the house was shrouded in darkness. Despite the late hour, when no one readily appeared, Darcy pounded on the door of the main house.

Had Bingley failed to tell his servants to expect his arrival?

Black crepe hung on the front doors, a sobering reminder of why the household might be in disarray.

When the butler answered with a candlestick in his hand, Darcy asked to be taken directly to Bingley.

“Mr. Darcy, sir, if only I could,” the man whispered.

Was the man daft? Had Bingley kept it to himself that the loss of Mrs. Bingley moved him to reach out to his former friend? Surely not! Stunned, Darcy asked, “What can you possibly mean? I received his letter two days ago. He is expecting me. Take me to him!”

The butler dropped to the bench in the hall, his head in his hands. “I am deeply sorry, sir. Terribly sorry.”

What is the meaning of this? What is happening? Surely, Mrs. Bingley was a beloved mistress. Yet this level of devotion was unseemly. Unsettled, Darcy asked, “Is Mrs. Nicholls here? Might I speak with her?” Without waiting for a reply, he strode to the housekeeper’s office.

Had Bingley crawled into a bottle to ease his pain? Had he rendered himself insensible to avoid mourning? Darcy appreciated the servants’ efforts to protect their master’s reputation from harm under the circumstances if this was so.

Or had Bingley left Netherfield Park, unable to face his responsibilities? Darcy never would have expected this of him. But if he did then the question was ‘why?’ What of the twins? Were they still in the nursery? What of Miss Bennet? Was she here or at Longbourn? What was going on?

“Mr. Darcy!” Mrs. Nicholls’ hands flew to her chest, then wiped her tear-stained cheeks. “I was not expecting you. Oh, my! You cannot know what has happened.”

Mourning her mistress she had for less than a year was commendable.

“I know about Mrs. Bingley.”

The housekeeper covered her face, her shoulders wobbling from her tears.

An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. “What has happened, Mrs. Nicholls? Where is Bingley?”

Like the butler, sadness weakened her. Barely above a whisper, she said, “Mr. Darcy, sir, there was an accident earlier this evening. I am distressed to inform you that Mr. Bingley…he did not survive.”

The unexpected news blindsided him. His heart nearly stopped. “Impossible.” Darcy could not seem to wrap his thoughts around her words. They made no sense. Bingley dead? “No.”

“Sir, your shock is understandable. Everyone here at Netherfield feels the same. The groom who reported the accident is insensible. Those men who retrieved Mr. Bingley’s body are barely able to speak of it.” She sniffed. “Mr. and Mrs. Bingley were excellent master and mistress of this estate for the short time they were in residence. This is a terrible blow. ”

Darcy was unable to reply. He should have traveled quicker. He should have been there… oh, god!... he missed sparing Bingley by hours. One more failure to add to his list of many.

Pulling off his gloves, he ran his hand over his mouth as he fought his way through the dismay which ate at him. “Yes, A terrible loss, indeed,” he was finally able to mutter.

Mrs. Nicholls pushed him into a chair, shoving tea into his hand after adding a little something from a flask. “Mr. Darcy, your arrival is a blessing. We have two infants in the nursery who need someone in a position of responsibility who will see to their future. Not once since the news went out about Mrs. Bingley’s confinement did Mr. Bingley’s sisters show an interest in the growing family. Miss Lizzy is doing her best, but she is solely focused on the daily care of the twins. Sir, the loss of Mrs. Bingley left the master unable to…. well, as far as I am aware, you were the only person he wrote to, so great was his grief.”

Elizabeth, she is here. I need to go to her… His heart leapt. No, I need to care for Bingley’s interests first.

One of the most difficult challenges after the death of his father was penning those horrid letters informing friends and family. Rubbing his face again, he wondered at Bingley being able to write to him when his heart was crumbling into a thousand pieces.

Darcy considered the situation as his thoughts began to clear. Important matters needed to be cared for quickly. The poor babies. Poor Elizabeth!

“Where have you placed Bingley?”

“He is laid out in the front drawing room.”

“Have any arrangements been made?”

“By whom, Mr. Darcy?” The housekeeper raised her palms. “Miss Lizzy refuses to take time away from the babies. Mr. Bennet is consoling his wife, who has yet to recover from the loss of their daughter. She has not even made the three-mile journey to the nursery to see her first grandchildren. Such is her suffering. Mr. Bingley’s family is still in London as far as I am aware, though he did receive a letter from his sisters today which precipitated his wild ride. There is no one else…but you.”

“Very well.” Darcy was too familiar with the business that comes from the death of a loved one. “I assume that Mrs. Bingley was buried at Longbourn?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Have the Bennets been made aware of the accident?” If they had not, they soon would be. He would not want it to come from the servants.

“No, sir.”

“I see.” He wanted to see Miss Bennet, to see the babies, to be surrounded by living, breathing humans.

The hall clock rang nine times. If he did not leave now, he would need to wait until morning. Instead of rushing to the nursery to see her , he said, “Inform my driver that he is again needed. I am to Longbourn.”

Longbourn! One of the reasons he denied his feelings for Miss Bennet was the vulgar and flighty conduct of her mother. How would this latest news affect her already fragile state? He would be as empathetic as possible, but arrangements needed to be made.

Not an hour later, he approached Bennet’s estate. Unlike Netherfield, despite the late hour, candlelight could be seen through the windows.

He knew little of Mr. Bennet. Darcy had only ever met the man briefly at Bingley’s ball. The master of Longbourn attended none of the other social gatherings or hunting parties. Bingley claimed his future father-in-law liked books more than people. How he would take this news, Darcy hadn’t a clue. He should have taken the time to talk to Elizabeth. He once heard that she was her father’s favorite. Except, he knew he could never have left her once he was in her company. That would have been truly impossible.

His purpose for setting out at that hour was far more than dispensing sad tidings. Charles II and Clara Bingley were the first and only grandchildren of the Bennets. Perhaps the master of Longbourn would want to assist Darcy in the days ahead. Although Darcy had his doubts, he would not rob the man of the privilege.

He sighed, feeling old and worn down. Straightening his shoulders, he lifted his chin. This was an essential task in the service of a friend. He would do this.