The Peculiar Talent of Miss Elizabeth Bennet (A Collection of Unusual Tales #1)

Prologue

S eptember 1798

Longbourn, Hertfordshire

“Come sit by me, Elizabeth.”

“Yes, Granny.”

At seven years of age, Elizabeth was a precocious little thing with curling brown hair and bright, sparkling eyes. Cora Bennet smiled at her great-granddaughter and leaned down to whisper in her ear.

“Have you had any interesting dreams of late?”

Elizabeth scrunched up her face in thought. “I dreamt I fell into Mr. Wallace’s pond and got all wet.”

“Hmm. Perhaps I shall ask your father to teach you to swim,” she said absently. “Best be careful around that pond in future. Anything else?”

“No, I do not think so. Have you had any interesting dreams, Granny?”

“As a matter of fact, I have. I had a dream about you.”

Elizabeth’s eyes lit up. “What was I doing?”

“You were preparing for your coming out. You were very beautiful. Though your dress had entirely too much lace.”

Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. “I do not like lace on my dresses. It itches.”

“That it does.” Cora smiled. She did not tell her granddaughter that in the dream, Elizabeth looked full young to be coming out and had not been pleased at all. Anxiety was written all over Elizabeth’s face as Mrs. Bennet clucked about her daughter, claiming she would never be as beautiful as Jane, but she should make the most of what attractions she possessed. A stranger would not have recognized it, but Cora saw the hurt in young Elizabeth’s eyes.

“I want you to remember something for me, child.”

“What is that?”

“Remember that you are beautiful, every bit as lovely as Jane in your own way, and do not allow anyone to sway your opinion on that.”

Elizabeth looked at her grandmother in confusion. She was more interested in running outside than looking pretty. “Very well, Granny.”

“Have you written in your journal lately?”

Elizabeth sighed. Her great-grandmother had given her a journal for her seventh birthday and told her to use it to write her dreams in, as well as interesting conversations she had with her great-grandmother. She had yet to crack the binding. She had mastered reading, but her penmanship was atrocious, and writing was so tedious. She had not taken the trouble to work on it.

Cora Bennet looked at her sternly. “Elizabeth, you must write more, or you shall never improve. Go and fetch your paper. You may practice your letters at my desk, then we will write an entry in your journal together.”

Elizabeth sighed and did as she was told, though she did not like it.

At least once per fortnight, Cora Bennet would bring Elizabeth into her private parlor and ask her the same questions. Had she had any interesting dreams lately? Had she been writing in her journal? Had she practiced her letters?

Eventually, Elizabeth realized she would not get out of the task and decided that having a fair hand would be a useful thing, and so she put her considerable determination into mastering the art of handwriting. Progress was slow, but soon she was writing notes to her friends at neighboring estates and making journal entries about the things her great-grandmother told her.

“I had a dream about you last night,” said Cora one spring day in 1800.

“Oh? What was I doing?” Elizabeth answered the same way she always did.

“You were dancing at a ball. You were very talented and hardly sat out a set. All the gentlemen wished to dance with you.”

Elizabeth smiled. “I like to dance.”

“I know, child. And you have a considerable gift for it.”

Elizabeth had never taken a single dancing lesson and her current version of dancing looked more like cavorting wildly through the garden. But she did not question Granny’s pronouncement.

When Elizabeth was eleven years old, she came to sit next to her grandmother in the parlor. She did not say anything, but Cora could tell she was upset. They sat side by side in silence for some time, Elizabeth looking ahead blankly and sighing every few minutes, and Cora knitting patiently beside her.

“Jonathon Blackwell tried to push me into the pond,” Elizabeth finally said.

“Did he?”

Elizabeth nodded. “I thought we were friends. When I said as much to him, he said he could never be friends with a skinny little girl.”

Cora dropped her knitting and looked at her granddaughter’s bent head. “You listen to me, Elizabeth Rose Bennet. That boy has no idea what he is talking about, and he is mean besides. You are better off without a false friend like him, though I know it hurts to realize it.”

Elizabeth sniffled and raised her head.

Cora passed her a handkerchief and said gently, “It is sad when we discover people are not who we thought they were, and it is all right to cry about it. But you mustn’t let it keep your spirits down. Boys like Jonathon Blackwell are not worth more than a few minutes of your time. Do you understand?”

Elizabeth took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “I do, Granny.”

“Good. I am glad to hear it.”

Two years later, Elizabeth was having tea in her grandmother’s parlor, discussing Jane’s coming out preparations, when Cora abruptly changed the subject.

“You will be a grand lady someday, Elizabeth.”

“Mama says I must stop climbing trees or no man will take me.”

Grandmother Bennet guffawed. “Your great-grandfather fell in love with me while I was climbing a tree.”

It took a moment for Elizabeth to realize her grandmother was teasing her, then she smiled widely.

“You must always be as you truly are, sweet child. Do not allow your mother to change you.”

Elizabeth furrowed her brow. “How do you know I will be a grand lady?”

“I have seen it in my dreams.” Her grandmother smiled and patted her cheek, ignoring the confused look on her granddaughter’s face.

Cora Bennet lived to be ninety-two years of age, much to Mrs. Frances Bennet’s chagrin. She died peacefully in her sleep with a mysterious smile on her face. Elizabeth had remained her favorite granddaughter. At barely fifteen, Elizabeth was the most affected by her grandmother’s passing. She had only just come out, and her grandmother’s death granted her a reprieve from social obligations for a few months though Mrs. Bennet did not like it.

Mr. Bennet and Elizabeth’s sisters went through all the motions of grieving, but aside from one tearful afternoon, Mr. Bennet and Jane moved on easily enough. Elizabeth, however, was truly aggrieved. Every year for her birthday, her grandmother had gifted her with a new journal. The books held the secrets the two shared between them, Elizabeth’s girlish imaginings, the childish slights she suffered, and her grandmother’s dreams.

When Elizabeth had turned fourteen the year before, Cora had told her that the dreams were not merely dreams but visions of what would come to pass in the future. Elizabeth did not believe her. Her grandmother was old and terribly fond of her. Of course she would say Elizabeth would live in a grand house and have a great love! She wanted what was best for her beloved grandchild. But wishing did not make it so and Elizabeth was more cynical than most—likely the result of being the daughter of parents so wholly unsuited to one another.

Her grandmother had also said that Elizabeth possessed the gift of dreams, but in fifteen years, she had never had a single vision of the future. When her grandmother had been laid to rest and the stone was set, Elizabeth had placed flowers on her grave and prayed desperately for a dream. Just one dream when her grandmother would appear and hug her once more and tell her she was every bit as lovely as Jane, no matter what her mother said, and assure her that everything would be well.

But the dream never came.

Until the morning of her sixteenth birthday when she awoke in a cold sweat.