Page 1

Chapter 1

Elizabeth closed her bedroom door, her temporary bedroom, and turned the key. She sighed in partial relief. She had held the Netherfield Park party at arms’ length, at least physically, but she knew that it would take a while for her mind to calm. She leaned back against the door, her eyes closed and let the stresses and frustrations of the evening, of the whole week, bleed off.

She was startled when the servant door opened and her assigned maid entered. She knew the young woman’s family but did not know this teenage daughter. She pushed off from the door and allowed herself to be undressed and prepared for bed. She thanked and dismissed the maid but did not blow out her candle. She was calmer but not sufficiently to easily fall asleep.

Part of the problem was Elizabeth herself, she was her own worst enemy. Years of strictures regarding the appropriate behaviour of house guests resulted in her continuing to engage with these people. She would have much preferred to remain above stairs, taking her meals in her room. She had a ready made excuse with the stubborn fever of her sister. But while Jane slept, and a maid sat with her, Elizabeth made the effort of being a polite guest. Given how she was feeling, and of the conversations with Miss Bingley and Mr. Darcy, it was possible that staying above stairs would have been the less rude option.

Caroline Bingley. Elizabeth had to laugh. She got as far as her name and had to stop. Elizabeth faced a choice. Be honest, and therefore appalling rude, or resort to cliché. Once again her training, barely, won. Cliché it was. Caroline came across as something out of Greek myth. It seemed as if half of them could apply; the unnamed 13th task of Heracles, the real reason for the Trojan War, Sisyphus not only had to forever roll his rock to the top of the hill, he had to listen to Caroline Bingley while he did it. However you described it, she was a trial. And at present she was Elizabeth’s trial.

And she was not sure why. They had been in each other’s company less than half a dozen times in the space of a month. She totted them up in her head. First of all there was the Assembly at Michaelmas, their introduction to the area, the soiree at Lucas Lodge, the Longbourn visit, dinner at the Gouldings and now this. And it was not as if Elizabeth had gone out of her way to engage with Caroline Bingley. It was the opposite, if truth be told. But Caroline Bingley had taken a dislike to Elizabeth and during this last week had been anything but a good hostess. Thank goodness Jane was better and so they could soon escape this place. Perhaps as soon as the next day.

And the most infuriating man in the whole of the country? She could fill a page with all the descriptors she thought could apply to him. Proud, arrogant, selfish, smug, self-satisfied, self-important. She had to stop, that list formed instantly without any need for thought. And what was equally annoying was this odious pile of smugness was encased in a tall, athletic body topped with a handsome face, dimples that set her heart racing, and hair that was prefect. The outer shell might draw the eye but as soon as he opened his mouth Elizabeth recoiled.

And that was without considering the insult at the Assembly.

Which led her back to her earlier self-recrimination. Having just mentally castigated Caroline Bingley for being a poor hostess, Elizabeth was doing herself no favours in the way she was goading Darcy. Her intense dislike was manifested as a verbal stick and she took great delight in poking the bear with it.

That final avalanche of clichés made her laugh and groan at the same time. With a final shake of the head she leaned over and carefully extinguished the single candle. It was time to sleep, and dream of returning to Longbourn. Hopefully the next day she and Jane would finally be able to escape this place.

--

David Hurst was a drunk. He liked to delude himself that it was Caroline Bingley that had driven him to drink, and all those that knew the harpy did not question that assertion.

But it was not true. His grandfather had been a fat drunk, dead before he was 30 from falling down a flight of stairs. He had married young, fortunately, and his heir was already seven years old. That son’s education was overseen by the young widow and she had been ruthlessly blunt and honest when the young man was in his teenage years. Unlike so many of his generation he had disavowed alcohol. Not totally, it was a necessary evil of mixing in society, but he had maintained a rigorous discipline his whole life.

Unlike his son.

The Hursts, like so many families, had many children but not all lived to even the age of five. Of seven children that were born, four boys and three girls, only David survived past the age of five. And as a result, he was spoiled, especially by his mother. He could do no wrong and even moderate discipline was not meted out. The drunken grandfather sired the aesthetic father who sired the spoiled, and drunken, son. Caroline Bingley did not help matters but David Hurst was a drunk long before he ever met the Bingley family.

Since no one was prepared to play cards with him that evening, Hurst had fallen asleep on the couch. His wife had gone up to her room and left him there, and it was his brother-in-law who nudged him awake before he too retired for the evening. Leaving Hurst both relatively sober, and wide awake. Two hours in the billiard room, ably accompanied by a decanter of brandy, and Hurst was ready to head to bed. He thought it poor that both Bingley and Darcy had abandoned him, lousy manners from the host and a fellow guest.

Irony was in short supply apparently.

It was 1.30 in the morning, even the last of the servants had retired. Hurst either left his clothes in a pile for his valet to deal with in the morning or, more often than not, he fell asleep partially or fully clothed. He stumbled up the stairs, there were no overnight footmen on duty, and upon reaching the top turned left, the drunken memory of his youth leading him towards his rooms at his parent’s small manor.

Except that the family rooms at Netherfield Park were to the right. The only occupied rooms down the corridor to the left were those of the current guests, Jane and Elizabeth Bennet.

--

“Damn door, why won’t it open?”

Hurst rattled the door handle harder, his pickled brain thinking the door was jammed.

“Blast it all to hell, I can see why this place is leased out. Poxy bloody doors won’t even open.”

Elizabeth Bennet’s life changed the moment Hurst’s bulky body bashed against what he thought was his stuck door. Her bedroom door was closed and locked, but the fittings in the guest wing were not as new, or robust, as those in the family wing. The door was no match for bulk and drunken anger. The lock gave way and the door burst open, slamming all the way round to ricochet off the wall. Hurst stumbled into the room just in time to clock the door right in the face as it bounced back off the wall.

All hell broke loose.

Hurst fell back on the floor, blood streaming from his face, and bellowing loudly. It was not clear at what or who he was shouting but he was making an indecorous racket.

Elizabeth had awoken with a start and the elephantine arrival of Hurst through her locked door had her screaming in fright and worry.

It was a tie as to who arrived first. The butler and housekeeper, husband and wife, came along the corridor at the same time that Jane ventured out of her bedroom. They all peered through the remains of the door at Elizabeth in bed and Hurst on the floor. The former had stopped her screaming and was now glaring ferociously at Hurst. His bellows had eased slightly but the lower volume of noise had been replaced with a larger volume of blood. His feeble efforts to stem the flow gushing from his nose were entirely unsuccessful.

The remainder of the Netherfield Party arrived as a group. Bingley was in the lead, Darcy close behind, both silent and concerned. The Bingley sisters were congenitally unable to be quiet and were making enough of a racket for the four of them. They too stood at the door of Elizabeth’s bedroom taking in the scene with a single glance. Belatedly, additional servants started to appear, including the maid assigned to the Bennet sisters who came through the servants’ door at the back of the room.

If it had not been her as the victim of Caroline Bingley’s malice, Elizabeth would have been impressed at the speed with which Caroline plunged her venomous verbal dagger into the proceedings.