Page 1
Chapter One: The Lambton Ambush
The public parlour of the Black Swan in Lambton had a certain rustic charm, provided someone lacked a functioning sense of smell and had a high tolerance for baking in the late-June heat. Dozens of bustling travellers crammed themselves around the tables, their loud chatter transforming the stifling, mutton-scented air into mayhem. Elizabeth Bennet was sipping a liquid which tasted like steeped straw. She lowered the chipped cup to its matching saucer, offering a strained smile to her aunt and uncle.
Uncle Edward wedged a folded piece of paper under the uneven leg of the table, testing his handiwork with a firm push. “There. A triumph of modern engineering. We shall not spill our tea every time a carriage passes on the cobblestones.”
“You are a marvel of ingenuity, Uncle,” Elizabeth offered, adjusting her muslin skirts.
“We are fortunate to have secured a table at all, Edward,” her aunt said. “The innkeeper mentioned that the town is unusually crowded for late June. I suspect the beauty of Derbyshire is drawing a great many travellers north.”
Elizabeth kept her gaze fixed on the sugar bowl. Her aunt was undoubtedly correct about the influx of visitors, but Elizabeth’s mind was occupied by a different piece of local news.
The day before yesterday, while receiving a fresh jug of water near the taproom, she had overheard the ostler gossiping with a farmer. The master of Pemberley was in residence, and he was entertaining guests from Kent who had arrived five days earlier. The panic that had seized Elizabeth in that moment had nearly caused her to drop her jug.
Fitzwilliam Darcy was five miles away.
She had spent the last two months attempting to banish the memory of his proposal at the Hunsford parsonage. She had read his subsequent letter until the paper grew soft and frayed at the creases. Her furious indignation had slowly transformed into guilt. She had accused him unjustly regarding Mr Wickham. She had flung his pride back in his face with a cruelty she now deeply regretted.
The very last thing she desired was to encounter him at his estate, escorted by her relatives in trade, bearing the full weight of her blistering rejection.
She had redirected Uncle Edward’s eagerness for touring the great houses of the county, suggesting they focus on the natural wonders of Matlock Bath instead. Thus far, her diversionary tactics had proven successful. They had avoided Pemberley, and tomorrow they were scheduled to depart for the Lake District.
The parlour door opened with a sudden creak. Mr Higgins, the rotund innkeeper, bustled in, bearing a tray.
“The afternoon post, Mr Gardiner.” The innkeeper bowed, extending the tray. “A missive arrived for the young lady from Hertfordshire.”
Elizabeth rose and took the letter before her uncle could even reach for his spectacles. She recognised Jane’s elegant, flowing script on the outer fold.
“News from Longbourn!” Elizabeth returned to her chair, breaking the wax seal with eager fingers. “I shall read it aloud, provided my mother has not detailed her nervous complaints for more than three pages.”
Uncle Edward chuckled, settling back into his chair. “Skip the nervous complaints, Lizzy. Proceed with the antics of my children. I rely on Harold and Michael to maintain a proper level of noise in my absence.”
Elizabeth unfolded the thick paper and perused the lines, a smile illuminating her features.
“Jane writes that the children are thriving,” she announced, tracing the ink with her index finger. “She states that Harold and Michael attempted to paint the chickens blue using a mixture of crushed berries and chalk. They were unsuccessful in altering the plumage, but they did manage to stain the kitchen floor permanently.”
Aunt Madeline sighed in affectionate resignation. “I shall owe your mother a rug to cover it, I am certain. And what of Rebecca?”
“Rebecca is learning her letters with Mary,” Elizabeth continued, her eyes flying down the page. “She has successfully mastered half the alphabet and is attempting to teach the barn cat how to read.”
“A noble endeavour,” Uncle Edward noted, reaching for a dry biscuit. “The cat will undoubtedly prove a superior scholar to her brothers.”
Elizabeth turned the page. Her smile faltered slightly, her brow furrowing as she deciphered Jane’s suddenly hurried script.
“There is news from Brighton.” Elizabeth kept her tone neutral, acutely aware of the dangerous territory she was entering. “Lydia has written a very long, very dramatic letter to our mother.”
“Are there not enough soirées to satisfy her appetite?” Aunt Madeline inquired.
“It is not about that.” Elizabeth hesitated, choosing her words with caution. She could not reveal the vile truths contained within Mr Darcy’s private letter regarding George Wickham, but she could certainly share the public consequences of the man’s lack of good character. “It concerns Mr Wickham. It appears he has left his regiment.”
Uncle Edward paused, his biscuit hovering in mid-air. “Desertion? That is a serious offence.”
“Not desertion, Uncle. His creditors have caught up with him.” Elizabeth read the lines, a hard knot of vindication settling in her stomach. “His creditors from Town found him in Brighton. He was arrested for debt and has been taken to London. Lydia says he is to be placed in Marshalsea.”
Aunt Madeline’s eyes widened. “A debtors’ prison! Good heavens, Lizzy. The man was a frequent guest at your father’s table.”
“What a scoundrel.” Uncle Edward frowned. “Those fellows possess too much charm and far too little substance.”
“Lydia is devastated, of course,” Elizabeth continued, skimming over the description of her youngest sister’s dramatic lamentations. “She claims the tradesmen were cruel and unforgiving to demand their coin. However, Jane notes that Lydia attended an assembly the very evening after his arrest, so her grief is apparently manageable provided there is music.”
