Prologue
Elizabeth Bennet was five years old the first time she fell in love.
His name was Jackson. A giant, black plough horse whose great hooves thudded against the packed earth of the lane behind Longbourn’s stables. One ride was all it took to win Elizabeth’s heart.
Astride, Jane wound her small hands in the coarse mane.
Elizabeth clung to her older sister’s waist, her cheek pressed against Jane’s shoulder blade, while the horse’s gait sent tremors through her entire body as they bounced down the dirt road.
Wind caught her loose hair and sent it streaming behind her like a banner.
The hedgerows blurred into ribbons of green on either side of the lane.
The sky above seemed wider, bluer than it ever had from the ground.
Elizabeth’s heart soared, keeping rhythm with the steady hoofbeats. She tightened her grip on Jane and closed her eyes, feeling motion and freedom and joy.
“Faster, Jane!” she called, her voice bright with laughter.
“He will not go faster,” replied seven-year-old Jane. Elizabeth could hear the smile in her voice.
Elizabeth kicked her heels into the horse’s side. “Faster! Faster! Faster!”
The horse rounded the bend near the kitchen gardens, and Elizabeth opened her eyes to see Mr. Barton, Longbourn’s steward, step into the middle of the lane. His face was red, his expression thunderous.
“Whoa!” he shouted, seizing the horse’s bridle with both hands. The animal stopped so abruptly that Elizabeth nearly tumbled over the top of Jane. Only her sister’s quick hand, reaching to steady her, kept her in place.
“What do you think you are doing?” Mr. Barton demanded.
“We were only—” Elizabeth began.
Mr. Barton cut her off with a gesture. “Jacob!” he called over his shoulder. “Jacob, come here at once.”
The groom appeared from the stable yard, his cap in his hands, his expression neutral. Guilt twisted Elizabeth’s stomach. They had waited until the groom was cleaning the back boxes, then climbed the fence Jackson leant against to settle themselves on his back.
“Get them down,” Mr. Barton ordered. “Young ladies, the stables are dangerous, and these animals are here to work, not to amuse children who ought to know better. You know your father’s orders.”
Jacob lifted Jane down first, then reached up for Elizabeth. She slid into his arms, her face burning with indignation. The ground was hard and unyielding beneath her feet after the gentle sway of the horse.
“My apologies, Miss Lizzy,” Jacob muttered, so quietly that only she could hear. “I did not see you—”
“It’s not your fault,” Elizabeth mumbled, but Mr. Barton shooed the sisters toward the house, his hands flapping as though they were wayward poultry.
Jane took Elizabeth’s hand as they walked.
Elizabeth fought the urge to burst into Papa’s study and make him tell Mr. Barton to let them ride.
She wanted to demand it. Wanted to stamp her foot and insist it was unfair.
But her beloved Aunt Gardiner’s voice echoed in her head: Young ladies do not create a disturbance, Lizzy.
So, she walked when she wanted to run—and remained silent when she wanted to shout. She blinked hard against the angry tears that burned behind her eyes. One escaped anyway, sliding down her cheek in hot disobedience as they crossed the threshold.
Mr. Thomas Bennet sat behind his desk, his reading spectacles perched on his nose, a volume of Latin open before him. He did not look angry, which Elizabeth took as a good sign. Neither did he look pleased at the interruption.
“Tears, Lizzy?” His brows rose.
“Mr. Barton made us stop, Papa.” She swiped the moisture from her cheeks.
He set his book aside. “Ah, I could not imagine they were tears of regret for doing something you knew you should not.”
“I wanted to ride for ever so long,” Elizabeth announced. “Jane only went along because I begged her.”
Her father’s mouth twitched, though whether with amusement or disapproval, Elizabeth could not tell. “I see. And did you enjoy your ride?”
“Oh yes, Papa!” The words spilled from her before Elizabeth could stop them. “It was everything wonderful. I felt as though I were flying. Could we have a horse of our own? Just one? Jane and I could share, and we would take such good care of it. We promise.”
“Lizzy.” Her father’s voice held a gentle warning. “The horses we keep at Longbourn are for the farm, our estate. They plough the fields and pull the carts and our carriage. We do not have horses for riding about the countryside.”
“But Papa—”
“There is no money for a riding horse,” her father continued. “There are five of you girls to feed and clothe. Your mother has expenses, and I have my books. A horse is a luxury we cannot afford.”
Elizabeth tried diligently to temper her plea. “Could we not save for one? If Mama—”
“Elizabeth.” The firmness in his tone stopped her. “The answer is no. I am sorry, my dear. You must content yourselves with other amusements. Stay out of the stable and off the horses. I insist.”
Jane curtsied. “Yes, Papa.”
Their father’s expression softened. “You are good girls. Now run along and keep out of Mr. Barton’s vicinity for the rest of the day.”
Elizabeth could not stay away from the stables—or rather, from the horses.
The very next morning, she crept out to the paddock where Jackson grazed, an apple hidden in her apron pocket.
The old plough horse lifted his head at her approach, his dark eyes interested.
Elizabeth’s heart swelled. This—this she could do.
Mr. Barton and her father had forbidden the stables and riding, nothing else.
Over the weeks and months that followed, Elizabeth visited the horses whenever they stood in the fields. She brought treats smuggled from the kitchen. She stroked their necks and learned which spots each horse favored for scratching. She studied their movements, their ears, the noises they made.
She stood at the stable door countless times. When Mr. Barton caught her, he told her papa, and she was forbidden again. She loved watching Jacob curry the horses. Her fingers itched to help, to run the combs over their shiny coats.
Every gentleman who arrived at Longbourn endured her questions about his horse—its breed, its age, its temperament. Every man received her plea to teach her to ride. The answer was always the same: “No, miss. Horses are too big, and you are too small.”
Elizabeth believed the horses would never hurt her. She loved them, and surely that mattered.
Year after year, the answer remained the same when Elizabeth asked for a riding horse.
Her father explained that he had a gentleman’s horse until Jane was born.
When it died, they needed to economize now that the nursery was filling so there was no funds to replace it.
Their mother needed new ribbons, new furnishings, and new gowns for assemblies.
Their father needed the latest volume of poetry, the newest translation of Cicero, or a subscription to yet another literary journal.
At ten, Jacob finally told her the truth her parents could not speak.
“There was a little girl, miss. Your aunt Philips’s daughter.
Margaret, though most called her Magpie for all her chattering.
” The groom’s weathered face grew pained.
“Sweet little thing, not yet three. She was chasing a ball one morning and ran behind your father’s gelding.
Startled the beast. The hoof came down before anyone could react. ”
Elizabeth’s throat closed. She had no memory of a cousin named Margaret.
“Mrs. Philips—” Jacob shook his head. “She and your mother were as close as sisters could be before that day. After...well. There were no more children. Maggie was their only chance.”
That same day, Mr. Bennet sold every riding horse, Jacob explained. What remained were patient draft animals, kept for work and nothing more. His daughters would never be taught to ride. The risk was unthinkable. The cost already too high.
Elizabeth never asked again. How could she, knowing what her request would cost her father? What it had already cost the Philips family?
The yearning never left her. When a gentleman cantered past on the road, or when she stood at that threshold and breathed in the scent of hay, horse, and leather, the longing twisted inside her like a living thing.
Elizabeth Bennet refused to surrender entirely. She vowed that someday—somehow—she would ride again. If only she could find a way.