Love Among the Shadows

Chapter 1

One

September always came with mixed feelings for Elizabeth Bennet.

On the one hand, the month brought new faces to Hertfordshire, most of whom were friendly—though occasionally, some were decidedly not.

On the other hand, September, being the harvest month, meant fewer balls to attend.

It wasn’t that Elizabeth disliked balls; she might have enjoyed them more freely if not for her mother’s incessant declarations that every gathering was a golden opportunity to secure husbands of good standing.

Elizabeth was not opposed to the idea of marrying a good husband, but she had one steadfast rule: if she were ever to marry, it would be for love, not merely for ‘good standing.’

That particular September morning, Elizabeth had just returned from her customary walk, her cheeks rosy from the brisk air, when she was summoned directly to the drawing room.

There, her younger sisters, Catherine—whom they all called Kitty—and Lydia, were positively beaming as they clustered around Mrs Bennet, who appeared to be in a state of great excitement.

“Mama said Netherfield is rented at last!” Kitty exclaimed, her delight uncontainable.

“And it’s to a Mr Bingley!” Lydia added, her tone reverent as though speaking of royalty. “They say he has five thousand a year and—” she paused dramatically, “—he is single.”

“That,” Kitty giggled, “is the most important part.”

Their father, comfortably reclined on the sofa with a book propped before him, raised his eyes at this pronouncement. “One might think,” he began dryly, “that for young ladies so consumed by the idea of marriage, you might first master the art of completing a sentence without giggling.”

Elizabeth hid a smile, while Kitty and Lydia both cried out in protest.

“Papa!” Lydia exclaimed, her hands firmly planted on her hips. “You should be happy for us. Why, Mr Bingley could marry one of us before the end of the year!”

“Marry one of you?” Mr Bennet arched a brow, his tone deceptively mild.

“That would indeed be a miracle. He has not yet seen you in a temper, Lydia, or heard Kitty’s attempts at playing the pianoforte.

I daresay, the man should be advised to hire additional footmen simply to carry the burdens of his regret. ”

Mrs Bennet, unable to contain herself any longer, interjected with a dramatic huff. “Mr Bennet! How can you be so unkind to your own daughters? You know perfectly well this is Jane’s opportunity! She is the most beautiful of them all, and Mr Bingley will surely fall in love with her at once.”

Elizabeth smiled at this assertion. She had no doubt her sister’s beauty would charm even the most indifferent gentleman, and she sincerely hoped Jane would marry well. Jane deserved a husband of kind character, and Elizabeth could only wish her happiness without any of their mother’s theatrics.

“Well,” Elizabeth said lightly, a teasing smile playing on her lips, “it seems Netherfield’s new tenant is already the most important man in Hertfordshire, and he hasn’t even arrived yet.”

Lydia sniffed, undeterred. “It is only a matter of days—or weeks at most—before he does. And Mama can never tell who he might favour. Perhaps he will like Jane best, or perhaps,” she added with a toss of her head, “he will prefer me, for I am as beautiful as Jane.”

Elizabeth was unsurprised by Lydia’s assertion. Their mother had never been shy in declaring Jane the most beautiful of her daughters, nor in assuring Lydia that she was equally lovely. It was a claim Lydia embraced with unshakable confidence.

“And yet,” Elizabeth replied with deliberate sweetness, “I cannot think what poor Mr Bingley will do if he must choose between two such paragons of beauty. How dreadful it will be for him.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “You are always mocking, Lizzy. Just wait until Mr Bingley arrives, and we shall see who laughs last.”

Mrs Bennet, seizing the opportunity, sighed dramatically. “Elizabeth, you must not jest about such things. Mark my words—Jane will win his heart, for no man can resist her sweetness and beauty. If Mr Bingley does not fall in love with her, I shall truly despair of all men.”

Elizabeth smiled faintly as the room dissolved into chatter.

Kitty and Lydia speculated eagerly about Mr Bingley’s age and appearance, while Mrs Bennet alternated between extolling Jane’s virtues and lamenting the preparations needed for her daughters’ prospects.

Mary, the middle daughter, made no effort to join the conversation, appearing far more interested in a volume on gardening.

Amused yet thoughtful, Elizabeth could not help but feel a flicker of curiosity. While she cared little for her mother’s matchmaking schemes, the arrival of new neighbours always promised intrigue. Perhaps, after all, September would bring more to Hertfordshire than harvests.

***

Two weeks later, Elizabeth’s curiosity would at last be satisfied at the Meryton Assembly—a much-anticipated gathering that served to welcome newcomers into Meryton society and promote a sense of community before the onset of winter.

Mrs Bennet, as was her wont, spent the two days preceding the event in a state of relentless excitement, fretting over how her daughters would appear at what she called “such an important event.” Her primary focus, naturally, was on Jane.

She hovered over her eldest with relentless determination, insisting that if Mr Bingley were to be taken by her beauty, she must look absolutely perfect.

Elizabeth, accustomed to her mother’s ways, was not surprised by the number of dry remarks her father delivered during these preparations.

Nor was she surprised when Mr Bennet declared his intention not to attend.

He preferred his literary pursuits to such social spectacles, despite possessing an excellent command of conversation when it suited him.

On the day of the event, the assembly itself was almost exactly as Elizabeth remembered it from the previous year.

It was an evening filled with food, merriment, music, and the mingling of old and new faces.

Among the old, her dear friend and neighbour, Charlotte Lucas, was her favourite.

They spent most of the evening together, exchanging wry observations and indulging in light gossip about the crowd.

Sir William Lucas, Charlotte’s father, was a tradesman who had been knighted before settling in Meryton, a distinction that earned him considerable respect in the community.

This status ensured that most newcomers had either already paid their respects to the Lucas household or had received a visit from Sir William himself.

As a result, Charlotte was well-informed about the new faces in town and was able to provide Elizabeth with a succinct account of their origins and peculiarities.

There were six in total, tenants who had recently taken up residence in Meryton or its surrounding areas. Each brought with them some measure of intrigue.

Among them was Mrs Clara Holloway, a widow of three years, whose dignified manner and ever-present pug made her a subject of admiration.

There was Mr Geoffrey Penrose, a bachelor of few words, whose six unruly dogs were already infamous in the area.

There was also Mrs Amelia Hart, a reserved young mother of two, who stood quietly near the refreshment table.

Charlotte explained that she was known for her exceptional skill in crafting pastries, earning a modest living by selling her confections.

However, she noted that whispers followed Mrs Hart—rumours of a youthful elopement with a man who had abandoned her with two children before fleeing with another woman.

Despite the persistent gossip, Elizabeth observed that Mrs Hart carried herself with quiet dignity.

Also present was Mr Samuel Reed, an apothecary assistant recently settled under Mr Jones’s employ, and Captain Thomas Wentham, recently retired from the navy, whose tales of maritime adventure were as bold as the man himself.

Of all the new arrivals in Meryton, none were spoken of more than Mr Bingley and his distinguished circle.

Mr Bingley himself was all affability and good humour, and he was soon declared the most agreeable gentleman in the room.

So captivating was his manner that the matrons of Hertfordshire could not help but direct their well-dressed daughters toward him, in the hopes of securing his favour.

To Mrs Bennet’s delight, it seemed her prayers were answered, for Mr Bingley was immediately struck by Jane’s beauty and danced two of the five sets that night with her.

Mr Bingley’s party consisted of his two sisters, his brother-in-law, and his intimate friend, Mr Darcy.

Mrs Hurst, the elder of the two sisters, was married to a Mr Hurst—a man whose chief interests appeared to be the supper table and a well-furnished card game.

Mrs Hurst herself was grand in demeanour and spoke with an air of condescension that, though tempered by the occasion, did little to endear her to the company.

Her younger sister, Miss Caroline Bingley, was even more formidable in her disdain, carrying herself with such hauteur that she seemed offended by her very presence at the assembly.

Yet, neither of the Bingley sisters inspired as much ire as their companion, Mr Darcy.

Handsome in appearance, with the noble bearing of a man accustomed to command, Mr Darcy was initially the subject of great admiration.

Whispers of his ten thousand a year quickly spread, and when it was learned that he owned a considerable estate in Derbyshire, the room fairly buzzed with anticipation.

Here was a gentleman for whom any mother might sacrifice her dearest ambition.

However, such hopes were quickly dashed, for Mr Darcy’s behaviour was as disagreeable as his income was impressive.

He was aloof, speaking only to those in his own party, and twice displayed a rudeness that sealed his reputation as the least amiable man in Hertfordshire.

The first instance occurred when Mr Edwin Harper, a local merchant, attempted to engage Mr Darcy in conversation.

Though Mr Darcy at first ignored him, Mr Harper persisted, determined, it seemed, to prove the gentleman no better than the society in which he found himself.

At last, emboldened by his resolve, Mr Harper laid a hand on Mr Darcy’s shoulder, only for Mr Darcy to shrug it off with evident disdain.

“Sir,” said Mr Harper, his voice rising above the hum of the room, “your behaviour is most ungentlemanlike!”

Mr Darcy regarded him coldly. “I am not accustomed to exchanging words with men who do not know their place.”

At this, Mr Bingley, fresh from the dance floor, intervened, pulling his friend aside before the matter could escalate further. Elizabeth, seated nearby due to the want of gentlemen to dance with, caught the conversation that followed.

“Come now, Darcy,” said Mr Bingley, his tone light yet imploring. “There is no need for this. Perhaps a turnabout the floor will ease your spirits.”

“I have danced with Miss Bingley already,” Darcy replied curtly. “I see no other partner worth the trouble.”

“Oh, nonsense!” Mr Bingley laughed. “Sitting by yourself is why you nearly got into a quarrel. Look around—there are many charming ladies to choose from.”

Mr Darcy cast a brief glance across the room, his expression unmoved. “The only lady worth dancing with is the one you are partnered with.” His eyes flicked toward Jane.

Mr Bingley smiled at this but did not let the matter rest. “Then look just beyond her. Her sister sits not far from you, and I daresay she is fair to look upon as well.”

Mr Darcy turned his head, his gaze landing on Elizabeth Bennet. His brow furrowed slightly before he replied, his voice clipped. “She is tolerable, I suppose, but not handsome enough to tempt me. Now, go back to your partner, Bingley. I would not be persuaded otherwise to dance.”

Elizabeth felt her cheeks flush at the remark.

Though she pretended not to hear, her expression betrayed her mortification.

The words carried far enough for several nearby guests to hear, and a chorus of “Oh!” and “Ah!” rippled through the room.

By the evening’s end, Mr Harper was still brooding over Mr Darcy’s insult, and the assembly was united in its disapproval of the man from Derbyshire.

Mr Bingley, by contrast, was universally admired.

His engaging manner and evident admiration for Jane Bennet left the room in no doubt of his character.

As for Elizabeth, her feelings were unequivocal.

She thought only of Mr Bingley’s attentions to her sister, finding him wholly charming and wishing him every happiness.

The rest of his company, however, she regarded with indifference—save for Mr Darcy, whom she disliked as heartily as any person in Meryton that night.