Prologue
Elizabeth Bennet drew in a deep breath of hot, muggy air as she strode, arms pumping vigorously, toward her home of Longbourn.
Her long walk along the familiar paths near Meryton had cleared her mind and she felt ready to face her family again.
Her mother, always restless and noisy, had been particularly indignant this morning over her daughters’ inability to find husbands.
Kitty had coughed and complained, still outraged that the youngest Miss Bennet, her sister Lydia, was enjoying herself in Brighton as the guest of the wife of Colonel Forster, who commanded a regiment of militia men.
Mary had pounded on the pianoforte with more determination than skill.
Dear Jane, precious Jane, was always a sweet companion, but Elizabeth’s eldest sister was still mourning the loss of her first true love, Mr. Charles Bingley.
The man had courted Jane the previous fall, only to be driven away through the combined efforts of his best friend, Mr. Darcy, and Mr. Bingley’s sisters.
Mr. Darcy…
As always, thoughts of Mr. Darcy, a handsome gentleman who owned a vast estate in Derbyshire, provoked a maelstrom of emotion.
On the one hand, Elizabeth was still outraged over the man’s high-handed and insulting marriage proposal to her only a few weeks previous, while Elizabeth was visiting a friend in Kent.
Mr. Darcy had claimed to be in love with her, and then proceeded to roundly insult her connections, denigrate her family and their manners, and had admitted to encouraging Charles Bingley to abandon her sister Jane.
On the other hand, she could only feel shame over her championship of one Lieutenant George Wickham, a member of the militia.
She had found Mr. Wickham completely charming and had accepted, like a gullible fool, his story of being cheated of a valuable church living by Mr. Darcy.
It turned out that Wickham had lied about the living, and that the man was a practiced seducer.
Well, she would never see Mr. Darcy again, nor was it likely that Mr. Wickham would ever cross her path.
In a few short weeks, she would be traveling north to the Lakes with her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner, the latter a tradesman in London.
The Gardiners were kind, beloved and refined.
Her own family was often an embarrassment in society, but at least she had some relatives of whom she need not blush.
One of the servants was carefully trimming a bush and she smiled at him as she walked down the main path toward the front door.
Mr. Hill, the butler, opened the door for her, obviously having noted her approach.
She smiled fondly at him as well; Mr. and Mrs. Hill had served at Longbourn for many years, and she loved them.
Elizabeth passed into the hall and hesitated.
Mrs. Bennet was still carrying on loudly, lamenting Mr. Bingley’s abandonment of Jane.
She really did not want to hear more about that sad subject.
She turned to the right and stopped at the end of the corridor where the library door was, as usual, firmly shut.
Mr. Bennet, her father and the master of Longbourn, spent many hours in his library, hidden away from the absurdity of his family.
Elizabeth was his favorite and always welcome, and she could safely hide here with her father until the next meal.
She rapped on the door and then opened it immediately. Mr. Bennet was seated on his favorite armchair but he was slumped to one side, his head lolling oddly, his eyes open and blank, and his book had fallen on the floor.
For the first time in many years, Elizabeth Bennet screamed.