Chapter One
Elizabeth was halfway through breakfast at Longbourn when it struck her that she had heard the conversation before.
Not the words themselves. Mrs Bennet possessed an inexhaustible supply of observations upon lace and the failings of her neighbours.
Lydia was perfectly capable of inventing new reasons why she deserved whatever had most recently caught her eye.
Even Mary's quotations, though frequently drawn from different authors, generally arrived at the same conclusion.
There was something comfortingly familiar in the course these discussions always took, as though each member of the family had accepted a particular role and repeated it daily without ever tiring of it.
"...and Mrs Sheffield assured me there was not another piece of Brussels lace to compare with it anywhere in Meryton," Mrs Bennet was saying. "It will be perfectly charming upon your pink gown, Lydia."
Lydia let out a satisfied hum. "I thought so myself, Mama. Miss King will be quite eclipsed. La! She is an ugly, freckled thing to begin with. But in my new gown she will be practically invisible!"
Kitty looked at her mother, her face twisted in dissatisfaction. "I do not see why Lydia should always have something new. My green muslin is three years old."
"But it looks quite different than it once did," said Lydia with a laugh. "You have grown considerably and it is a full two inches too short now."
"I have done no such thing."
"You have. The hem was nearly at your ankles last summer."
Mrs Bennet set down her teacup. "It is perfectly natural that Lydia should require another gown. She is in company more than any of you."
"I should be out more if I had something worth wearing," mumbled Kitty.
Jane looked up from buttering a slice of bread. "I do not think anybody notices gowns as much as we imagine. Your green gown looks very well to me, Kitty dearest."
Lydia laughed. "That is because you could wear a flour sack and still be admired."
Jane coloured immediately. "Lydia… please."
Mary, who had until this point had her nose buried in the volume beside her plate, closed it with deliberate care and cleared her throat noisily. "'The love of finery,'" she announced gravely, "'has led many women into sin.'"
Lydia rolled her eyes. "Who said that?"
"Doctor Fordyce."
"I cannot imagine he knew all that much about ladies' gowns."
"He understood human nature," said Mary. "That is more important than understanding gowns."
Mr Bennet lowered his newspaper by an inch. "Poor fellow," he said. "It must have been quite the burden to have carried the answer on every aspect of human behaviour."
Mary frowned. "He was concerned with moral improvement."
"I daresay he was, my dear, but I’m not sure we need to hear about it over breakfast."
"I was speaking of lace not morals," grumbled Lydia. "Mama, do you suppose Mrs Sheffield has enough left for my new bonnet?"
Mrs Bennet looked thoughtful. "We must go into Meryton before Mrs Long. If she sees that lace first, she will buy the entire piece out of pure spite. Her daughters have little of beauty and she thinks she can balance the scales with finery."
"I do not think Mrs Long truly has designs upon Lydia's lace, Mama," said Jane evenly.
"My dear Jane," replied Mrs Bennet, "I have known Mrs Long too many years to underestimate her."
The conversation wandered on and on. Mrs Phillips's latest supper party was dissected and Lydia announced several ambitious plans for the next assembly.
Elizabeth listened with only half an ear.
There was not another home in England she would rather have called her own than Longbourn, nor another family she could have loved more—flawed as they were.
But as she looked around the breakfast table, she found herself with the curious feeling that she knew exactly what tomorrow's conversation would be, and the day's after that, and the one after that.
It was an absurd complaint. Many young women would have envied her life.
Longbourn was a happy home, her sisters were affectionate, her father indulged her more often than not and even her mother's frequent anxieties rarely lasted longer than the next piece of neighbourhood gossip. Nothing at all was wrong.
Perhaps that was precisely it. She had lately begun to feel as though life had settled into a pattern that seemed never to change. The seasons continued in the same cycle, assemblies were held, dinners given and invitations accepted, yet each seemed only a variation of what had gone before.
She was not unhappy and would have been ashamed to call herself so.
She wanted for nothing of consequence. Even so, there were mornings when she caught herself wondering what it might be like to wake somewhere she had never been before or to spend an evening amongst people whose opinions she could not predict before they opened their mouths.
She shook her head and smiled at her own foolishness.
Her father would say she had read too many novels and longed for some dramatic gothic adventure.
But even as she dismissed the thought she could not quite persuade herself that the world had already shown her everything it had to offer.
???
Elizabeth was still considering the matter when she wandered into her father's library later that morning.
Shelves lined from floor to ceiling with books overflowed into untidy stacks upon every available surface.
It smelt of paper and pipe tobacco—as it always had.
Mr Bennet occupied his customary chair by the window, absorbed in a volume on Greek history.
Without looking up, he said, "If your mother has sent reinforcements in the matter of Kitty's new gown, you may tell her I remain unconvinced."
"I have come entirely on my own account, Papa."
"That does sound serious, my Lizzy."
Elizabeth smiled and wandered towards the shelves, trailing a finger along the spines as she passed. She had spent half her childhood in this room, pulling down books at random and discovering worlds far removed from Hertfordshire. "I wished to ask you something."
Mr Bennet closed his book over one finger and regarded her with interest. "I shall endeavour to provide an answer if I can."
"I have been wondering..." She hesitated, uncertain whether the question would sound foolish once spoken aloud. "Did you ever feel that life ought to contain more. More than it presently does, I mean?"
He watched her for a moment without replying. "That is a curious question."
"I know," she said with a sigh.
"And what has prompted it?"
Elizabeth laughed softly. "Nothing at all… only a feeling of… oh, I don’t know. Restlessness, perhaps."
She crossed to the window and looked out across the gardens.
Mrs Hill was directing two maids who were hanging sheets, Lydia had persuaded Kitty into a game of graces—something that showed they weren’t quite as grown up as they claimed to be—and Jane, a basket at her feet, was pruning her beloved rose garden.
"I cannot complain of anything," she said. "We are happy here. I know that. I only find myself wishing, now and then, that something unexpected might happen. Somewhere new to see. Someone new to talk to. A conversation whose ending I cannot predict before it has begun."
Mr Bennet smiled. "Too many novels, I suspect, my girl. You may wish for a gothic castle and swashbuckling hero. But I suspect they would all be rather tiresome in real life."
"I knew you would blame the novels."
"Hah! Even I have become predictable."
Elizabeth turned back towards him. "Am I being a goose, Papa?"
"I believe," he said, setting his book aside altogether, "that there are not many young women possessed of both your intelligence and your energy, Lizzy.
Most are blessed with one or the other. You have somehow contrived to inherit both.
It is an excellent combination, but not one that sits comfortably with a life that meanders slowly down familiar channels. "
Elizabeth blinked. "I had expected a lecture."
"My dear, if I had intended to lecture you, I should have left the task to Mary."
She laughed. "So I am not ungrateful?"
"No."
"Nor fanciful?"
"I have known at least one other lady who would understand exactly what you mean. She also shone brightly and could not be contained by a small or ordinary life."
Elizabeth's curiosity was immediately awakened. "Who was she?"
"An old friend."
"Have I met her?"
"No."
"Is she still living?"
"I have every reason to believe so."
"Then why have I never heard of her?"
He looked down at the book resting in his lap, turning it absently between his hands before meeting her eye once more. "That is a story for another day."
Elizabeth let out a disappointed sigh. "You always become mysterious when you have no intention of answering me."
"It is one of the privileges of being a father. You must allow your old Papa his whims."
She shook her head, laughing despite herself. "You are impossible."
"So your mother has been telling me for nearly twenty-five years."
As Elizabeth reached the door, his voice stopped her once more.
"Lizzy."
She turned.
"There is nothing unreasonable in wishing to see a little more of the world than has thus far presented itself to you. But life may change rather faster than you would wish it, and I hope you will remember these times together at Longbourn with fondness."
She walked back to him, leant down and kissed his cheek. "Of course, Papa. It is more than likely a strange mood—it will pass."
She left the library and Mr Bennet sighed. He always knew that before long, his most spirited—and if he was honest, favourite—daughter would chafe at the confines of their small corner of the world. But he had hoped to hold her tight for just a little longer.
???