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Elizabeth had no interest in attending the race; however, she had nothing better to do. If what her aunt said was true about everyone being there, then it would provide a chance to meet people of her own age. If she had to spend many nights suffering her current circumstances, it would be a long, arduous stay indeed.

Elizabeth rose and walked across the room to garner a more advantageous view of her aunt’s pianoforte.

“Do you play, Elizabeth?”

Before she could respond, her ladyship repined on how long it had been since she was last afforded a chance to enjoy an exhibit on the grand instrument in her home. The pianoforte had been a gift from her deceased husband, Sir Frederick Barrett, and she had played extremely well by her own account. Her fondness for playing had diminished in concert with his passing. What a delight it would be to once again witness the occasions of the room being filled with music.

Elizabeth saw no point in contesting. Exhibiting for her aunt would give her just as much pleasure as it would afford her relation, for it would serve as a pleasant alternative to her discourse, which bordered on offensive. Elizabeth went through the chief of the sheet music arranged before her, and soon her ladyship announced her intention of retiring for the evening.

Glad to have survived the evening unscathed save a few slightly bruised feelings suffered on behalf of her relations, Elizabeth sat at her desk and took out her missive. Writing in the late evening hours was a habit she had cultivated many months ago. She found it far more settling to write whenever she felt compelled to, which was frequently of late—ever since her father shared the happy news that his sister had written to him, extended an olive branch, and announced her intention to take Elizabeth under her wing.

Both of Elizabeth’s parents had every reason to agree to the scheme. Mr. Bennet agreed because nothing would please him more than to see his favourite daughter so well situated in life, even though he would find himself with no one to add sensibility to the evening conversations. Mrs. Bennet was satisfied knowing she had one fewer daughter for whom to find a husband. Her words resounded in Elizabeth’s ear: Why should your father’s sister not shoulder that burden when she is so very rich and living in that fine estate in Bosley, and she has no children of her own?

Elizabeth mended her pen while nursing her busy thoughts. Her aunt truly was something else. Elizabeth could hardly wait to scribble her suppressed sentiments on paper. Her pen repaired, Elizabeth started writing where she left off before dinner.

I now comprehend why Mama and Papa spoke little of Lady Vanessa while we were growing up, especially Mama. Her ladyship does not have a kind word to say about our mother. She blames her for Papa’s general failure to exercise better stewardship of Longbourn; thereby enhancing rather than depleting its coffers. Her ladyship affirms that had Papa not married beneath him—to a tradesman’s daughter—he might have chosen a woman from his own sphere—a gentleman’s daughter with a decent dowry.

Her ladyship did not bother to curb her dismay when the result of her extensive inquisition yielded such a bountiful harvest of mortification. “Is it any wonder the five of you were reared in a household with no governess, one maid between you, and no benefit of the masters,” were but some of her hearty declarations. Clearly she does not know her brother at all to suppose he would have taken us to Town to study with the masters. Perhaps she knows him all too well, and his dislike of Town is a recently acquired distaste—perchance a result of his unequal alliance. Pray forget I said that, and owe it to her ladyship’s unrelenting haranguing of Mama’s family legacy.

I have been here only one day, and it seems as if I have been here for a week! Her ladyship’s inspection is brutal, and she has a very keen eye. I have no wish to be impertinent, but I fear if I do not, I shall grow afraid of her. That would never do, especially as I am to be her heir apparent, and all I have to do is live with her here in splendour until she makes it official.

Elizabeth looked up when Betsy entered the room. “I came to help you prepare for bed, Miss Elizabeth.” She started turning down the bed covers. “Is that a letter you are writing? I’ll carry it down and place it with the other letters for the post if you’d like.”

Elizabeth slid the paper into her desk and turned the key. “No—that is quite unnecessary, Betsy.”

“It is no trouble. I shall be delighted to be of service to you.”

“No!”

Lowering her eyes, Betsy bit her bottom lip “I only mean to help.” After a moment, she retrieved Elizabeth’s nightgown from the drawer and laid it on the bed. “Did you enjoy your evening with her ladyship?”

What was Elizabeth to say? She could not very well tell her maid that she found her ladyship’s manner to be rude, dictatorial, and off-putting. She had only met Betsy a few days prior at Longbourn when she arrived to accompany Elizabeth on the journey to Bosley. Her new maid might well be a spy for all she knew. She fancied her aunt as just the type of iron-fisted ruler who would want to know everything that was taking place in her home. Wanting to say something to her aunt’s credit, Elizabeth reflected back to the dinner table heavily laden with platters of meats, vegetable dishes, assorted fruit, and fine wines, prepared solely for the two of them.

She nodded. “Dinner was superb.”

“I shall pass your compliments on to the cook and to her ladyship as well.” She clasped her hands. “Oh, just wait until you learn what her ladyship has in store for you tomorrow.”

Elizabeth pursed her lips in wonderment. She retrieved the key from her drawer and clutched it tighter. If she presumes to report back to her ladyship on a compliment as innocuous as my sentiments on the meal, then I shall suppose Betsy is a spy!

CHAPTER 2

A LADY’S IMAGINATION

“Pardon me, Miss—” The tall, striking gentleman immediately knelt before Elizabeth, and one by one, he handed her the toppled parcels and books scattered about on the ground. Amazed at finding herself in such a position even though she saw it coming but had been unable to avoid it, she accepted the packages in silence.

He stood and cleared his throat. “I understand it is the established mode for a young gentlewoman not to speak with unknown gentlemen, but a proper ‘thank you’ surely is in order,” said he, still holding one of the books she had dropped.

Elizabeth had been in a sour mood all morning, what with her aunt’s insistence she wear that ridiculous pink garb with the flouncy bottom. It was definitely not one that Elizabeth would have chosen for herself, for she much preferred muslin over silk for such an occasion. Then, too, her aunt had insisted that Elizabeth take the carriage to the village when it was a perfectly fine day for a walk. The gentleman’s superior attitude only increased her ire.

“Sir, if you had been paying attention to where you were going, then our near collision would have been avoided in its entirety.”

He bowed ever so slightly. “Your point is well taken.” He turned over the book in his hand and silently read the title. It was but one of several books she had procured to familiarise herself with horse racing. He arched his brow. “My, what interesting taste in books you have, young lady.”

His tone dripping with sarcasm did nothing to recommend him. Before she could fashion a retort, Betsy bounced from around the corner. “Miss Eliza—” As if remembering her place, she coloured and corrected her manner of speaking. “Miss Bennet, I beg your pardon for not coming to your aid sooner.”

“Miss Elizabeth Bennet.” An amused look played across his face. “Your burden is heavy. May I assist you and see you to your carriage?”

Elizabeth handed her armload over to Betsy. She extended her gloved hand to the stranger, silently beckoning him to surrender her book. “No, sir, it is entirely unnecessary.” He still did not relinquish the book—the last relic between them. She arched her brow.