Chapter One
Elizabeth Bennet was having a terrible day. She knew she ought to be happy, even celebratory, but this only compounded her misery with guilt, regret, and simmering anger.
Kitty came to sit beside her on the sofa, offering her a cup of punch and reminding her of all the reasons she had to smile.
Charlotte had married the previous morning, and had taken their tedious cousin Collins back to Kent directly.
Jane and her new husband, Mr. Bingley, had returned from their trip to London in time for the wedding.
The odious Mr. Darcy had failed to separate the lovers, and had taken his ill-humored brooding elsewhere.
The Gardiners had come up from London, and would join the Bennets and Phillipses in journeying north to Mr. Bingley’s new estate in Derbyshire the following morning.
“And here come a few of the officers,” Kitty cried, darting toward the window as if this was the most joyous news of all.
Elizabeth had never been so surly in all her life, and even the sight of Mr. Wickham sauntering toward the house, looking as handsome as ever in his regimentals, failed to cheer her.
“I suppose we must be some consolation, after Mary King and her ten thousand pounds were whisked away to Liverpool,” she grumbled.
Kitty gasped, as if Elizabeth had suggested the dashing lieutenant had warts and a leer.
“It is very kind of the officers to call on us before we depart for a whole month—I am sure Lydia and I shall miss them desperately, and I know you will, too, Lizzy—after all, you are violently in love with a certain someone.”
“Hush, Kitty,” Elizabeth cried, swatting at her sister as the three officers were shown into the crowded drawing room.
Kitty rolled her eyes before following after Lydia, who hastened to be the first to greet their callers.
Three of the Gardiner children, who had been playing a loud and rowdy game for the last half-hour, scampered across her path as she moved to speak with Mr. Wickham.
Mrs. Phillips scolded them sharply and Mrs. Bennet, who had consumed a fair bit of punch that afternoon, laughed merrily.
Elizabeth closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath as her temper was further strained by the antics that had given her a headache since early that morning. Mr. Wickham smiled as she approached him, and swept into a gallant bow. “What a lovely family party you all make.”
Mr. Bingley stood nearby, receiving the congratulations of Colonel Forster and Captain Denny.
He turned and offered his new sister an apologetic smile.
“We are indeed. Perhaps I ought to have waited until our departure on the morrow to have Netherfield closed up, rather than when Jane and I traveled to London to finalize the purchase of Macallister Manor, but my head was full of other concerns.” He gave a good-natured shrug of his shoulders.
The colonel laughed knowingly. “A man’s wits are never entirely present when he is on the verge of marriage. But you are all departing for Derbyshire tomorrow, I understand.”
“Indeed,” Mr. Bingley agreed. “We shall only be so crowded for one night, and my new Mamma assured me there are rooms and beds enough for everyone. We will all be sharing at the inns along the way, and then five rooms will seem quite a luxury!”
“Macallister Manor—that is not ten miles from Pemberley, if I recall correctly,” Mr. Wickham said, giving Elizabeth a curious look. Lowering his voice, he said to her, “I fear you will see a great deal of Darcy while you are in Derbyshire.”
Half a dozen bitter retorts died on Elizabeth’s tongue; she only replied, “I mean to spend a great deal of time accompanying my Aunt Gardiner in calling on her friends in the area—she grew up in Lambton, you may recall.”
“Certainly. If you will introduce us, I should be happy to pay my respects, and ask her to convey my best wishes to a few old friends in that village.” He offered her his arm, and they moved through the noisy drawing room to speak to Mrs. Gardiner.
Her aunt was seated near the pianoforte, and Mary was assaulting the instrument as if insensible to the clamor of their young cousins, whose father was perversely encouraging their boisterous game.
Elizabeth and Mr. Wickham nearly had to shout to address Mrs. Gardiner, who could scarcely speak a word to the handsome officer without Lydia trying to lure him toward the mistletoe that hung over the doorway to the music room, while Mrs. Bennet attempted to draw her sister-in-law into a discussion about long sleeves and lace.
Once they had managed a few pleasantries, Mr. Wickham turned to Elizabeth and suggested a walk outdoors might be pleasant, for it was the warmest hour of the afternoon, and she would be cooped up in a carriage for the next few days.
She accepted with a smile of relief, and had taken a few steps to retrieve her pelisse when one of her cousins scampered past, having stolen Mrs. Phillips’s cup of punch and elicited a shrill reprimand from the lady.
And of course, the young lad collided with Elizabeth and drenched her white day dress with the entire cup of red liquid.
Mrs. Gardiner began to offer her apologies, which were drowned out by Mrs. Bennet. “Lizzy, you careless girl, you have made a mess of yourself! Oh, and all your best dresses have been packed away—whatever will you change into?”
At that moment, Elizabeth wished to change into a bird and fly away from all her chaotic relations.
Mr. Wickham’s reminder that she was likely to meet with Mr. Darcy in Derbyshire conjured up a horrific scene in her imagination—would her family behave thus in his company?
But of course they would, for they had applied themselves most assiduously to exposing themselves in his presence for the last two months.
At least his derision had not deterred Mr. Bingley, who had proposed to Jane at the Netherfield ball and made her his bride as soon as the banns could be read; Mr. Darcy could hardly detach his friend from Jane now.
Elizabeth made her excuses and hurried from the drawing room, the clamorous din fading as she flew up the stairs and into her bedchamber, which she would be sharing with all three of her sisters that evening.
She frowned at the empty armoire, which had once been full of Jane’s things, before opening her own armoire and retrieving one of the gowns her mother had deemed too drab to bring to Derbyshire.
The brown frock was warm enough, and would at least conceal any further stains she might hazard, between the dirt of the garden and the antics of her cousins.
Reminding herself she loved her family dearly, she rang for Hill and tidied up her chignon as she waited for the housekeeper to come to her aid.
Most of the servants had been given leave to spend the next month with their own families during the time the Bennets were away, but Mrs. Hill was to remain at Longbourn with her daughter Alice and her son Johnny.
The former would assist in giving the whole house a thorough deep cleaning, while the latter made sure the place was secure, a task Mr. Bennet was sure the lad could handle in such a quiet country village.
Mrs. Hill helped Elizabeth dress, assured her that Mr. Wickham would think her as lovely as ever in the rich chocolate color that matched her thick curls, and promised she would attend to the punch stain before it could set.
“If I cannot remove the discoloration, we could always dye the dress a pretty rose shade,” she suggested.
As Elizabeth rubbed at her temples, the motherly woman drew a packet of headache powders from a pocket of her apron and silently handed them over.
By the time Elizabeth had returned to the drawing room, the officers had taken their leave. “Mamma invited them to dine with us, but the colonel said they had other calls to make in the neighborhood,” Lydia said, looking smug at Elizabeth’s abandonment.
A dozen people crowded in the dining room was quite enough, as it happened.
Even with the Gardiner children relegated to the nursery for their evening meal, Elizabeth’s relations remained as boisterous as they had ever been.
Her mother speculated loudly about the eligible gentlemen her single daughters might encounter during their stay at Macallister Manor, suggesting perhaps one or two of them might reside with the Bingleys permanently if there proved to be good prospects for them in the neighborhood.
Lydia chimed in with her demands that Mr. Bingley give a ball for the Twelfth Night, and their new brother took it in good humor.
Further down the table, Elizabeth could see a look of alarm flash across Jane’s face.
Her sister met her gaze, but Elizabeth turned away.
She recalled how warmly she and Charlotte had spoken to one another when the Collinses called that morning to take their leave, as if they shared some great secret as newly married women.
It chafed Elizabeth, who had long believed it unlikely she should ever marry, since she required so much.
Jane was gentle and patient, and was satisfied with a husband who was kind and affable, while Charlotte was pragmatic enough to be content with a comfortable home—complete with shelves in the closet and the patronage of the estimable Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
Elizabeth wanted a man of wit and intelligence, tremendous depth of feeling and superior discernment, a man who could inspire ardent love and affection, and would treat her as an equal and share in all her pursuits.
She knew very well that there was no such man in existence, and so she would likely end an old maid, never able to share in the new status Jane and Charlotte had in common.