This book, under the same title, is now available for sale at Amazon. Amazon won't allow me to keep this up, but I will leave the first three chapters so you can see if you like it.

Thanks, everyone!

AN:This is a companion piece to Courage Rises, which is now available on Amazon. You probably want to read that one if you missed it being posted here last summer. You can still read the first three chapters here to see if you like it. You can also read Courage Requires without the first book and probably muddle along okay, but there will be things that may confuse.

I am still writing this book, but have it outlined and have a good deal of it in decent shape, so I want to begin. I will not have a set posting schedule but posting here makes me work harder. I do have to say that posting may slow down in spots as I fill in details, realize an additional chapter is needed, etc. When I am finished, I will let you know how long it will stay up, as I intend to publish this as well and Amazon has rules about other copies available online.

The business end of things: The version you will have here may be altered, revised, developed, and so on when it is finally published. This work is based on Jane Austen's characters, but the work itself is mine-you may not use it yourself in any way. There is already a copyright.

As to reviews, I absolutely welcome your polite, kind constructive criticism, your praise (of course), and most of all, your ideas. Even if I don't use them, they get me thinking in new and different ways and are essential to my process (they give me ideas for future books, too!). I do proof my work before posting, but there are always errors to find, so if you see them, don't hesitate to point them out.

Please, if you only want to be upset about what I have written or haven't written, don't bother posting a review-take all that wonderful creative anger and write your own story-I promise to read it!

In the Prologue, we see a partial resolution to a theft in Courage Rises. Mr. Harrison, the new-ish Pemberley steward, has fled the estate, abandoning the Mistress after Elizabeth had in essence quarantined everyone, requiring them to remain at Pemberley and not even travel into town. To make good his escape, he had stolen a horse. Mr. Briggs, the Pemberley stable master (and his son Harry) are now on a journey to recover him. Horses were quite expensive, and horse thieves were hanged, so Harrison has good reason to disappear.

And on we go!

Prologue

The sun was directly overhead as John Briggs pulled his horse to a stop. This was the fifth coaching inn he had visited in the past two days. This one was the smallest, though the stones were whitewashed and the roof tightly thatched. Across the road two young men were sliding crates of vegetables onto the back of a wagon, covering them with blankets, while the two mares hitched to the front gently tossed their tails to distract the flies accosting them.

John dismounted, removed his hat and wiped the sweat from his forehead before tying up his mount and walking inside. His younger son Harry, tall and lanky at fourteen and feeling all the pride of being asked along on this ride, tied up his own steed and stood, sandy hair falling into his eyes and arms crossed over his thin chest, next to the post. Nobody will dare approach the horses with such a guard, John thought fondly, as he replaced his hat and walked inside.

The inn was dark and cool inside, and John stood just inside the doorway for a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the dimmer light. When he spied the innkeeper behind the bar, he strode over to take a seat, order a drink, and ask his questions. The innkeeper was a heavyset man of about fifty years with a florid complexion and a full head of gray hair that curled over his ears but otherwise fell straight, ending near his frayed collar. He remained silent until John reached the end of his speech.

"Chestnut stallion, white flash, seventeen hands. Taps his front foot twice if you offer a carrot. Would have been left maybe a month back. My master is anxious to have him returned, and will pay for your trouble."

The man's eyes narrowed. He leaned on the knuckles of his fists, bending his corpulent frame closer to John's face. His eyebrows were tufted, gray, too short for his wide-set, muddy brown eyes.

"How much?"

John flashed an austere smile. "Depends upon the condition of the beast. Do you have him?"

"Might." He eased himself back to a standing position and hollered for his wife. Once she arrived, flustered and issuing loud complaints over being summoned in such a way, the innkeeper ambled slowly towards the back of the building, exiting into courtyard. He crossed through the dusty yard to a small stable beyond. While the front of the building had been well tended, the stable was neglected. The thatch roof was beginning to separate on one side while the walls were haphazardly maintained. The whitewash had long ago begun to fade and long weeds sank their leafy tendrils into the chinks between the stones.

John tried not to show his disdain for the condition of the horses as they made their way past several stalls. He instead focused on what he might do to Isaac Harrison if he ever got his hands on the man, taking a grim satisfaction in devising his penance before admitting to himself that he would likely need to hand him over to the magistrate without exacting such punishment. It would be the master's wishes, not his own that would be followed, and Mr. Darcy upheld the law.

They reached the last stall. Tossing his head and snorting was Ares, looking every bit the member of nobility he was in this stable of worn out mares. He moved quickly into the stall to run his hands along Ares' forelocks, checking from knee to hock for swelling or soreness, each hoof for cracks or worn shoes. Then he stood to run the flats of his fingers lightly along the stallion's neck, withers, muscles, checked his eyes, his teeth. Finally, he pulled a carrot out of his pocket and held it directly in Ares' line of sight. The stallion neighed, bobbed his head, and gently tapped the ground twice with his front left hoof before John gently moved the treat from side to side, up and down, watching to see that Ares could follow without pain.

"Be 'ye done yet?" asked the innkeeper impatiently.

John rubbed Ares' nose and offered him the carrot. He had not been well fed and was a little thin. He could certainly use some grooming. Otherwise he appeared unharmed.

"Who left him here?"

"Didna' ask his name."

"Short man, bald, squat?"

"Nay. Young, dark, rough-looking."

"How long has he been here?"

"Month or so, like 'ya say."

John frowned. The man could not be trusted, he thought, but for all that John believed him to be telling the truth about who had brought the horse here, though perhaps not when. Harrison might have sold the horse or had it taken before he arrived. After he was sure Ares was finished with the carrot, John began to fit him out for return to Pemberley. When he was finished, he tossed a few guineas to the man who grunted.

"Had to feed 'em an all."

"You have not fed him much," was John's retort, though the horse had been watered well. He flipped the man a few additional shillings, and threw him a look that said clearly enough there would be no more. He believed the stallion had been abandoned, not sold. The innkeeper had clearly been hoping for better but was wise enough not to complain. He shuffled back off to his wife as John spoke softly to Ares and began to lead him outside.

Harry was still standing next to the horses at the front of the inn, doing his best to appear fierce and unapproachable. His face lit up like a child's when his father walked Ares around the far side of the inn.

"You found him!" he cried, his eyes alight with pleasure for a brief moment before he reigned in his emotions by crossing his arms over his chest and offering a curt nod. "I knew you would. Is he well, father?"

"He is, though he will require some additional care once we get him home," John replied, trying not to laugh. He was pleased, very pleased, to recover Ares, and his son's face had reminded him in a sudden flash of cheerful memory holidays past, when both boys were small and his wife still alive. He well recalled being his son's age, not young enough to be a boy, not old enough to be a man, and he felt some sympathy for Harry's predicament. "Do you think you could take that on?"

Harry drew himself up to his full height. "I could," he said, sounding confident. "Thank you, father." He scratched Ares between his ears and stroked his long neck. The stallion gazed at the boy languidly and swished his tail from side to side.

"We must visit the magistrate before we depart, Harry, but let us make a start, shall we? I should like to eat my dinner at home tomorrow."

Harry grinned. "Aye, father," he agreed. "So would I."