CHAPTER 1
Mid-November 1811 - Hertfordshire
Elizabeth Bennet shifted the heavy basket to her right hand while gathering her billowing skirts into a semblance of modesty with her left. For two weeks, the wind whipped through the valleys of Hertfordshire, blowing autumn leaves to the ground and then swirling them high into the air. Had elderly Mrs. Hammond not needed provisions, Elizabeth would have remained closer to the leeward side of the large brick edifice that was her home, Longbourn.
Her bonnet twisted and pulled against the knot under her chin until the brim finally flipped upwards, leaving her eyes exposed to the dust pelting her side. They desperately needed rain. The summer months sweltered. By mid-November, there had been a few showers but not one good downpour.
She mocked the low clouds as she laughed at her dilemma. If she let go of her skirt to straighten her bonnet, the risk of exposing her legs was high. If she bent to set the basket on the ground, she feared she would topple over from the force of the gale. In exasperation, she dropped her chin to her chest and hurried to Mrs. Hammond’s door.
Unfortunately, from Longbourn, the elderly widow lived in the last building at the far end of the farming village of Meryton. Hoping she would not be observed fighting her garments, she rushed up the three steps to the door. Before she could raise her hand to knock, she was hailed from behind by the last person she ever hoped to see again, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy.Oh no!
“Are you well, Miss Elizabeth?”
Good grief!Could he not see her struggles? “I am well, sir.” Barely refraining from rolling her eyes, she turned before dipping into an insignificant curtsey.
Of all the people to see her bedraggled! Mr. Darcy was always perfectly turned out. Even with the stiff wind, his clothing was impeccable, his hat was perched just right (how on earth did he do that?), and his boots held a shine. In spite of the elegance of his appearance, he was proud, arrogant, officious, and quite rude.Within moments of their first meeting, he proclaimed to his friend and host, Mr. Bingley, that she was just tolerable and not handsome enough to tempt him.Well!Even with his reported ten thousand a year and his handsome form, Elizabeth wanted nothing to do with him. He could take his wealth and noble relatives somewhere they would be better appreciated, for the man had done nothing to ease his way into local society. Instead, he remained aloof, proving without words that, in his mind, he was superior and the people of Meryton were no more than feudal minions.
Mr. Darcy was accompanied by another man, who was not Mr. Bingley, the new lessee of Netherfield Park. In his saddle, the stranger appeared to be almost as tall as Mr. Darcy. This was no mean feat since Mr. Bingley’s guest towered over every other person at the assembly room where they first met. At a glance, the gentleman looked to be of an age with Mr. Darcy, or possibly older. His clothing appeared to have been designed by the same tailor. Even their horses were of similar conformation. Wherethey differed was Mr. Darcy’s skin was slightly tanned from being out of doors. His eyes were ice blue, cold, and penetrating. The other man’s skin was weathered, his eyes were a light brown, and the little hair visible under his hat was sandy blond. Unlike Mr. “Grumpy” Darcy, the other man’s face was friendly.
Before she could offer a welcome to the stranger, one of the unruly ribbons on her errant bonnet snapped, lashing her temple.
“Ouch!” Elizabeth swiped a tear from the sting while turning her face from the gentlemen. Unfortunately, having let go of her skirt, the wind exposed far more than her ankles.
Good heavens!How much did they see?Humiliated, she wanted to melt into the ground. After setting her skirt to rights, she grasped her fist even harder around the bunched cotton.
“Miss Elizabeth.” Mr. Darcy jumped from his horse and rushed to her side.
Elizabeth teased to distract herself and them. “Are you to be my knight in shining armor, slaying my favorite ribbon with your sword?”
The upward turn of his lips caught her completely unaware, something she considered impossible. In the four weeks since his arrival at the neighboring estate of Netherfield Park, the man appeared as if he suffered from a bad case of gout or stomach pains. Not even during the three days when Jane was ill at Netherfield Park had Elizabeth spied a hint of a smile, despite plenty of fodder from Mr. Bingley’s sisters. They were termagants whose snips and snarls were often overly exaggerated. They certainly gave her reason for mirth, yet Mr. Darcy always failed to react.
She stared at the door, wondering how she could knock without being indecent again.
“Pardon me.” Surprising her, he lifted the basket from her hand and reached around her, his gloved hand rapping on the decorative casing behind where she stood.
Before she could thank him, he asked, “Miss Elizabeth, is the pain from your injury subsiding?”
“My injury?”
He pointed to his temple. “’Twas good it was not your fingers, I suppose.”
The man was a complete puzzle. What was he talking of? “My fingers?”
He rapped again as a strong gust whipped down the street, again threatening her unruly skirts. When he glanced at the bunched-up side of her gown, where she had a firm grip, she clearly understood his meaning.Oh, good grief!He had seen far more than he should. Elizabeth’s mortification was complete.
Mrs. Hammond finally came to the door.
“Welcome, Miss Lizzy. Sir, I am grateful that you can lift the basket onto the table since she always brings far more than she should.” She opened the door wider, letting in a fearful gust. “Please come in, Miss Lizzy. Gentlemen, it is a breezy day for a ride. You are welcome to enter for a spot of tea and cake.”
Elizabeth said, “I will deliver your appreciation to Mama. She enjoys tucking extra delicacies in the basket.”
“Pray see that you do.” Mrs. Hammond smiled.
Elizabeth barely kept her mouth from gaping as Mr. Darcy, the most arrogant man of her acquaintance, gave Mrs. Hammond a courtly bow before entering the cottage and effortlessly lifted the basket to the table.
“Do come down from your horse and join us, sir.” Mrs. Hammond’s eyes twinkled with mischief as she looked at Mr. Darcy’s companion. “The wind carries a chill, and I feel the dampness coming in my bones. The water is already hot in the kettle.”
Mr. Darcy stepped back. “Another time, perhaps. There is an order at the bookseller’s that I have been waiting for since my arrival. If the weather continues to worsen, the likelihood of needing to remain inside Netherfield Park will be eased with excellent reading material to pass the long hours. Perhaps my cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam and I will return in time to escort Miss Elizabeth safely back to Longbourn. Should she stroll between our horses, we could keep most of the wind from knocking her about. Would a quarter hour do?”
