Author's Note: Hello everyone, it's been a long time since I last wrote fanfiction and Im feeling a little rusty. This is also my first Twilight fanfiction so I'm a little nervous about this. I have to tell everyone that this is going to be a slow and steady story where the characters have to go through some major upheavals and find out some harsh truths about themselves and their surroundings before they can fall in love.

This is AU, and I suppose it goes without saying, non-canon. It's also going to be rated M for violence and 'lemons' later on.

So, yeah, I'm not gonna beg for reviews, you'll do that whether you want to or not, but if you do could you please leave constructive criticism if you've negative comments as my confidence is at an all time low at the moment...

Other than that, Enjoy!

Chapter One,

A Universal Truth

"It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife."

Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen

Houston, Texas, 1920.

Isabella Swan

"Isabella, dear," the shrill voice of my mother, Renee, sounded behind me, as I was about to step out of the back door, book and blanket in hand.

"Yes, Mama?" I asked exasperatedly as I turned to face the redheaded woman, knowing exactly what she was going to say. If it were not about some boy who had just come to town I would eat my book.

"Isabella, do not take that tone with me. You need to be home in time for dinner tonight, the Warrington's are coming and I want to introduce you to their son, John. He just bought the old Wilson farm down the road and is in need of a good woman to stand by his side and help him fix the place up."

"Mama, please?" I begged. "Just because he happens to be a wealthy bachelor does not mean that he needs to be married, and it certainly does not mean that he wishes to marry me."

"Don't be silly, Isabella. Any man would be smitten with you if you just took the time to do something with your bird nest hair and kept your opinions to yourself." As if to emphasise her point she began pulling pieces of my dark auburn hair straight against my face, only for them to spring back into the mess of curls they were before.

She sighed irritably before continuing with her speech; one I had heard a million times before and could probably recite better than she, herself.

"Not everyone needs to hear about your literary preferences or your musical tastes, and certainly not your interest in history. The past has passed, let us keep it that way," She admonished with tears in her eyes.

"Yes, Mama," I placated with a sigh, and placed a kiss on her cheek as I set off down the path toward my secret tree. I knew she would just continue on this diatribe if I didn't, and I really didn't want her to cry. She felt I was hopeless, and like all young girls I should focus on finding a good man to marry and have a plethora of children before I hit twenty-five. What I wanted was rarely acknowledged.

I'm only nineteen and want to live a little first. I want to be swept away into a torrent of adventure, a romance that brings Romeo and Juliet to shame. I want to be taken across the seven seas, a prisoner of a pirate ship, fight my way to the top of the world and become the most feared pirate, stealing the hearts of men across the world, only to have some swashbuckling rapscallion, who went by the name of 'the-man-in-black', steal my heart when I least expect it. Together we would ride into the sunset, and claim the world as our play-ground, our love compounding us together until the ends of eternity. Of course the reality would be very different. If I ever made it passed the prisoner stage of my plan (which is very unlikely given the inclinations of men, and my stomach at sea), I would be hunted to the ends of the earth, and hung from a gallows hold with my feet and hands bound screaming my vengeance at the world.

I think I'll just stick to my books for now; they're the much safer alternative.

As I walked up to my secret grove I thought perilously about how I had ended up in Texas of all places in the world. We had lived in Chicago for most of my life, until my Daddy, Charlie, was killed in The Race Riots; he was a beat officer for the City of East St. Louis and was killed on duty during the course of the day. Nobody knows entirely what happened but they found his body, bloodied and mangled.

Up until that point I had wanted to sign up to the Police Force myself. Being a female officer I would be able to help women and children and make sure they were safe whilst imprisoned. I knew that Charlie would be proud, but as soon as the news of his death came, Renee became my priority. She was not the most mentally stable of people and was prone to severe bouts of depression. Charlie's death just made it worse, so we packed up our apartment, and with the small bit of money saved from his wage, Renee's inheritance, and the proceeds from the sale of the apartment, we managed to buy a small place in Texas, big enough for the two of us.

The new climate helped to improve Renee's spirits, even though she still became withdrawn occasionally. I believe it had a lot to do with the open space and the freedom that anonymity afforded us. We could be whoever we wanted to be here. We didn't have to be grieving wife and daughter; we didn't have to look perfect every time we stepped out of our house. Our hair could be out of place if we wanted and we didn't have to wear make-up or fancy clothes, we could just be Renee and Isabella Swan: Humans. That was the appeal for me, I'm sure the appeal to Renee was just escaping the memories of Charlie that haunted every corner of the city, and every place in the apartment. Either way she appeared to be on the mend, or, at least that was all that mattered.

Before I knew it I had reached the end of the path. A shaded copse of trees stood before me, the light from the midday sun shone iridescently in sparse patches, surrounding the area in a light green glow. Speckles of powder floated in the lines of light, like magical dust they gleamed proudly as they dithered and danced in the air. I couldn't help the serene smile that lit my face, nor could I help the contented smile as I continued into the miniature woodland.

I had discovered this area on our first day of being in Houston and had immediately fallen in love with it. In the middle of the coppice stood a single cedar tree that stretched skyward, its branches reached for the sun, whilst its blue berries camouflaged themselves against their heavenly backdrop. It was perfect. It offered a sense of seclusion and secrecy, yet it wasn't too far away from Renee that she panicked.

I placed my blanket on the floor and sat down between the roots of the tree and opened my book; Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen. It had been a favourite of mine since I could read and I had, at one point, modelled myself on Elizabeth Bennet. She was fiercely independent, would bow to no one and would let none belittle her. What more could anyone want to be? As I got older though, I realised that with independence and the burden of responsibilities came a crippling loneliness. Most days I busied myself with my work at the local grocery shop to forget it, but on others it would sneak up, grasp me by the heart and opened an aching black chasm that reeked of despair. I wouldn't succumb to it though, no matter how badly it hurt. I would carry on with my head up high and my shoulders square. I would find my Darcy, even if I had to travel to the ends of the earth and back, but I wouldn't submit to the loneliness and marry just anyone so that I could quell my heart's ache. When I did find my Darcy, I didn't want his protection, I wanted his support, and I wanted us to be equals.

It was a few hours later when I was pulled away from my book by the high-pitched screech of my mother shouting for me to come get ready. I groaned internally as I stood up and made my way back to the house. I had almost forgotten about tonight's meal, almost being the operative word of that sentence. I couldn't quite escape the gut wrenching terror of being put on display like the newest vogue toy, or paraded like a freshly shaved poodle.

"Isabella, dear, stop fidgeting." Renee commanded as I pulled on my dress once again.

When I made it back from my grove, Renee automatically grabbed hold of me and dragged me to my room. She had rummaged through my armoire until she pulled out the most ridiculous looking dress she could find and forced me to sit on a chair whilst she pranced around and fixed my hair and make-up, all the while commenting on how I should get my hair cut into the fashionable style, and how I should pluck my eyebrows into a more suitable shape. I had sputtered and told her there was nothing wrong with my hair, and my eyebrows were fine, I kept them neat, making sure there were no strays underneath the natural arch and that was it, no silly thin lines for me.

"They should be here in five minutes. Now, I want you to avoid the gravy tonight, and try not to cut yourself with your knife, I don't want to have to call on Doctor Brooks, again." She was persistent. I know she only meant well, but at times I couldn't help but feel like she was ashamed of me.

"Mama, please. I know what to do. Keep clean, blood free and above all else keep my opinions to myself."

"You know I only care for you, don't you?" She asked hesitantly, tears already filling her deep blue eyes, as she wrapped her hands around my waist and pulled me against her chest.

"Yes, Mama." I sighed as I placed my hands about her waist and hugged her back, pulling her as close as I could without ruining her hard work.

"I love you, Mama."

"And I, you, Isabella. Now come, I think I hear them coming." She pulled away quickly, as the sound of an engine roaring grew louder and louder.

Renee rushed to the mirror to check her appearance and fix a few things, unnecessarily. She had always being beautiful and her age and depression hadn't changed that, with sparkling blue eyes, and beautiful strawberry blonde hair, my mother could turn even the most obstinate of heads. I was the opposite of her in every way. Where she was willowy and thin, I was short and had small curves, where she was light, I was dark, with brown-almost-black eyes and hair that was more brunette than red. You could tell I was her daughter, but my mother was certainly the beauty in the family.

No sooner than Renee had fixed her appearance, a knock came at the door.

I believed you could tell a lot about a man by their knock. You had those that were loud, ostentatious bangs at the door that screamed of passion, but of a shot fuse, and a long, raging temper. Then you had the complete opposite, which was in fact what we were hearing now. A short, delicate rap at the door, which screamed snobbery, a dull sense of entitlement and lack of passion, it was perfect in its delivery, each rap equal in volume to the last, and rang out in a precise rhythm. I groaned inwardly as I heard it, it was the knock of someone with wealth and stature. The knock of someone who would be happier sitting in a billiards room with a cigar and a brandy than an old country farmhouse that housed two slightly crazed women.

I already disliked this John Warrington.

"Don't just stand there, girl. Go and answer the door." My mother urged me as she pushed me forward.

When I reached the door I looked back at Renee with a pleading face, begging her to not put me through this, but she simply shook her head and made a shooing gesture with her hands.

With a defeated sigh I turned to the door and opened it slowly. What I saw didn't surprise me, not in the slightest. John Warrington and his mother stood there looking disdainfully around at our small, but homely, house. They were beautiful examples of the human species. John was tall with dark hair that had been slicked to one side and piercing baby blues, he had a strong jaw and high cheekbones and wore a look of snobbery and an air of superiority like a mantle.

His mother was much the same, although she was more delicate in her features. She had a heart shaped face with a small upturned button nose and wide eyes. Her hair was coiffed into the latest fashion, with delicate waves stuck to her head. The sneer on their faces, whilst doing nothing to detract from their obvious beauty, increased when they saw my second-hand dress, and me with my mother hovering in the background like some moth trying to find a spark to burn herself with.

"Hello," I said trying to be civil even though I wanted nothing more than to punch them both in their faces and run in the opposite direction, "please, come in."

They both stepped past me as they handed me their coats to hang like I was some kind of usher.

"Welcome," my mother said with a wide smile as she held her hand out to John, who, in attempt at being a 'true gentleman', brought it his lips and placed a gentle kiss on the back of it, causing Renee to giggle and blush like a preteen.

"Do come in, dinner should be ready in half an hour." She said as she ushered them through to the dining room.

An hour later and I was ready to bash my head against the table. John and Mrs Warrington were by far the dullest people I had ever had the displeasure of talking to. Mrs Warrington would constantly chatter about herself, drawing any conversation to revolve around her, and John! Well, John was about as interesting as two planks of wood nailed together, in fact I think the wood would have had more personality had it being alive. His main interest was in the oil that could be found in the south and his wishes to purchase some land so that he could begin drilling and distribution. I honestly didn't care, I don't think I'd have cared even if he was dressed in a purple and green suit with a jester's cap on, but at least he'd have been more remarkable that way.

I was drawn out of my thoughts by a voice in my right ear.

"So, Isabella, your mother says that you read quite a bit. What type of books do you read?" John asked with a quirk of his brow, seeming genuinely interested in something I had to stay.

"Um," not the most loquacious way to start anything but I was remembering my mothers not so subtle warning from earlier in the day, if I embarrassed her I would be stuck with latrine duty for the next three years, "just recently, I read Fyodor Dostoyevsky's, Crime and Punishment, and before that I was reading The Canterbury Tales, by Geoffrey Chaucer."

"I have read The Canterbury Tales. I have to say I found the language quite difficult, the vernacular and syntax were something I was not wholly prepared for, although the satirical irony and critical way he looked at life, in particular the church, struck a chord with me. I have never had the chance to read Crime and Punishment, what is it about?"

I'm sure my jaw dropped to the floor in shock. The dullard could talk, and well at that. I told myself not to get too excited as I formulated my reply. My approach to literature often incited arguments.

"Canterbury Tales isn't his best work in my opinion, it is regarded as his magnum opus, but I prefer Troilus and Criseyde. As for Crime and Punishment, it's about a man who commits a murder for money and how that morally affects him and his family. It is about how the one true punishment for crime is our own conscience and only until we confess and pay the debt to ourselves can we truly move on. Well, that's what I take from it anyway, and that is a really simplified version."

"Interesting, do you believe it?" He asked me quizzically.

"Hmm?" I reply, not entirely sure about what he wanted an answer to.

"Do you believe that drivel you just spun?"

There goes the almost-good opinion. I thought ruefully as my face took on a shocked expression. Ignoring my mother's earlier warning, I replied with as much vehemence as I could muster.

"Yes, of course I do. I believe one must forgive oneself to truly be forgiven, and if I believe that, then I also believe that ones punishment must come from oneself as a path to earning that forgiveness. What do you believe, Mr Warrington?"

"I believe that no matter the reason, murder is a crime punishable by death and not deserving of forgiveness, society's or otherwise. I also believe that the world would be a much better place if literature like that was less readily available, especially to young, impressionable people such as you."

Who does he think he is? He can't be more than five years older than me. Enraged at being condescended to and practically told that I can't make decisions due to my age, I stood up quickly from the table, knocking my chair over in the process.

"Mr Warrington, I assure you, that whilst I may be young, I am far from impressionable and am perfectly capable of making my own decisions."

"Isabella Marie Swan!" My mother screeched whilst Mr Warrington spoke to me in a calm and collected voice; "Please, sit back down; we were having a friendly discussion."

"There was nothing friendly about your condescension, Mr Warrington." I replied as I pulled my chair up from the ground and sat down with a huff.

I knew I was acting immature, but I really couldn't help myself. I'd always been head strong. Charlie had always taught me to stand up for what I believed in and to never compromise myself or my beliefs. It was a shame I'd never been taught when to hold my peace.

"Now that you've stopped acting like a child, perhaps we can continue in a civilised manner?" Mr Warrington addressed me.

"A child?! A Child. It wasn't me that disregarded your opinion as if it meant nothing. It isn't me who has worn the mantle of entitlement all night, and a veneer of pride. You walked into this house with a look of disdain upon your face, casting judgement upon my mother and me before you had taken the chance to get to know us. I sat here tonight for my mother, but I have been placed in the company of insufferable fools and can tolerate no more. I'm sorry, but if you were trying to find a wife here tonight, you won't. Now, I'm going for a walk, please excuse me."

"Isabella Marie Swan, come back this instance. Apologise to Mr Warrington and his mother." Renee shrilled behind me.

I turned around and gave her a menacing, yet apologetic glare, "I will do no such thing."

As I walked out of the back door to my secret place I could hear my mother cajoling Mr Warrington with a sob story and a shamed tone.

"Isabella has always been a headstrong girl, Mr Warrington. My late husband often wished that she wasn't so opinionated, as do I. I'm so very sorry for the way she behaved. I do hope she didn't offend you."

"No, quite the opposite. I enjoyed myself here tonight, and would like to visit again. Whilst I find her behaviour and manners somewhat lacking, I look forward to helping curb such behaviour. With no male role model in her life I'm sure…"

I felt a growl of frustration grow in my chest at his reply and ran off into my miniature forest, away into the solitude of the growing darkness.