Chapter 1

It is all too easy to say that young Emilie Wickham's father was as much in love with her mother's wealth as he was in himself. The liaison didn't last long. Maybe a month. Maybe two. The lady in question, whose name Emilie is unsure of, took much pleasure in the idea of taking to bed a man nearly half the age of her own husband, and showered him in gifts and money aplenty. And her father? Well he was just happy to be of service. Or so the story goes. Emilie was never blessed with much in the way of details on the whole affair but what she did know was that her birth came as quite a shock and a scandal, and even now she shudders at the thought of where she would be if not it were for the generosity of her father's own wife.

Mrs. Wickham had never been known for her generosity and two sons she already had. But just a week before Emilie's own birth, she had birthed a daughter stillborn. Still nursing and struck with heartbreak, when light of the whole scandal came to the fore she did not hesitate in taking in her husband's illegitimate child and claiming it as her own. Though the monetary compensation offered by the other husband was also not unwelcome. Emilie had no idea whose blood ran in her veins, noble enough to save her from a fate worse than death she could suppose, though still not noble enough to make it matter anymore than the lot she had been given.

Mrs. Wickham named her Emilie Lydia Elizabeth Catherine Wickham. An excessive name for sure, but Lydia had always been known for her excessiveness. Having had only sons before, she longed for a daughter she could dress in pretty clothes and bring into town. However those occasions would depend on what amount of money Mr. Wickham had left after his investments. It always seemed that he owed more than he could accumulate, especially when he left the military and ventured into the world of business.

They moved around often, never settling in one place for long. 'Business' as Wickham called it. And growing up with two older brothers and one younger, Emilie was often a boisterous girl. She was a child who needed to question everything. Her thirst for reading was insatiable, even far beyond what books her parents occasionally gifted her. However, applying that book knowledge in a practical sense was not often a virtue of hers. Wickham called her an idealist; reminding him in some ways of a woman he had once known and come to admire as a young man, yet could never bring himself to court due to having actually respected her. Unfortunately the same could not be said for Mrs. Wickham. Still, Mrs. Wickham was happily kept as long as she could have her dresses and ribbons, and money in her purse...

1830 – Pemberley

"Oh Mrs. Darcy it is a disaster! Truly! There has been a theft here at Pemberley, under our very noses. You must see what happened." The older maid was in such a state that her cheeks bloomed redder than the roses that had gone missing from the garden. "They were there only this morning, even Betty can attest as she observed the grounds keeper watering them. But now you see, someone has come along and snatched them all up. Cut the roses right from their stems."

Elizabeth Darcy, the much loved Mistress of Pemberley of Derbyshire, suppressed a smile for she had been summoned from her visit with her sister under the pretence that a major crime had been committed on Pemberley grounds. She should have figured it was something like this.

"Do you think perhaps one of the maids cut them to use in decorating the guest rooms, Mrs. Davies? We do have guests," said Elizabeth with the patience and understanding of a saint.

"Oh no!" said Mrs. Davies with an exaggerated huff. "Most certainly not these roses. These gardens are not to be touched. I fear someone has come along and stolen them."

"Just the roses? Nothing else?"

Mrs. Davies nodded, her chins waggling. The woman was red in the face and Lizzy noticed just the hint of perspiration appearing from beneath her bonnet. They needed to get out from under the sun - the day was already too hot to be outdoors.

"Mrs. Davies," said Elizabeth, placing a gentle hand on the older woman's shoulder. For all of the worrying she did, Elizabeth couldn't help but feel a level of warmth for her. She had served the household for so long and done such a good job. "Come with me indoors out of this sun and you can tell me who you suspect could have committed such a heinous act on my husband's estate."

"Oh I know who it was. It was that child of your sister's. If I may speak freely, Mistress, that child has been a terrible influence upon dear Master Darcy. Why just the other day I saw her attempting to coax him into a tree. A tree! It's not proper for a young lady to climb trees! Or to have that level of influence on the future master of Pemberley."

Lizzy suppressed another smile, feeling a sense of pride for the young girl who had managed to achieve the impossible by coaxing her son from his studies and his books. He was far too serious. Like his father. If she had known better, she would have credited the Bennet influence for her boisterousness, but unfortunately, in this particular instance, the child had no more Bennet in her than George Wickham had Darcy blood in him.

Still, young Alexander Darcy knew the penalty for misbehaviour in the house. His father would never stand for it.

"Call out the children," said Elizabeth. "I will fetch Mr. Darcy and we will resolve this matter once and for all."

Young Alexander Darcy of twelve years sat in his room – though sat would probably be a poor choice of wording. More like he hovered over the seat at his ornate desk. His buttock was still red and raw from the sound caning he'd endured at the hands of his father. He had no idea what had possessed him to confess to the crime of beheading the roses, and upon reflection he realised that his own parents knew he hadn't done it due to his having spent the entire morning indoors with his tutor. But when one confessed to a crime one paid the penalty. And as painful as such a penalty was, young Alexander just couldn't stand the thought of seeing Emilie hurt.

His stomach gave a sickening grumble. The canning had been bad enough, but being sentenced to bed without dinner too, verged on cruelty. Perhaps going to sleep, as his parents had insisted, wasn't such a bad idea. The quicker the morning came, the quicker he could eat. No sooner had he managed to climb into bed than he heard the loud scratching noise coming from his balcony. He wanted to close his eyes and pass it off as just another bird caught in the vine, but couldn't deny the fact that the scratching was getting louder and more insistent by the second. Then finally there was a loud thunk followed by a pained moan.

Alexander shot out of his bed, mortification gripping him as he watched the child-sized figure – the very one responsible for his current state of misery - pull herself to her feet and press her nose up against his balcony window. She was wearing nothing but her undergarments!

"Emilie? What in the world are you doing?" Before he had the sense to think twice, Alexander stalked over to his balcony and yanked open the door, staring at her in disbelief as she took a moment to brush the leaves and sticks from her drawers. "Did..." he swallowed, suddenly unsure where to look. A girl, no matter her age, could not be seen in public in such a state of undress! "Did you climb the vine?"

His young cousin simply bore him a toothy grin. Her front adult teeth seemed disproportionately large in comparison to the rest of her child-like face. Then searching the floor, she found what she was looking for and plucked a rose from next to her feet.

"This is for you," she said, holding the rose out to him, wide blue eyes, round and innocent even though Alexander knew her to be otherwise. The girl was trouble and she knew it.

Even so, Alexander still smiled, his heart swelling at the sight. How could he not when she looked at him like that. "You realise you're giving me stolen goods, you little thief."

Emilie's face dropped for half a second as the impact of his words sunk in, then it returned, bigger and wider than before. Alexander had never seen a girl smile as much as Emilie did.

"Then maybe you will want these." Reaching inside a long pocket that had been sewn into her drawers, Emilie pulled from it two round objects that fit perfectly into her small hands. Even though they were wrapped neatly in table napkins, Alexander knew what they were immediately and his mouth watered, his hungry stomach twisting painfully in response.

"You are a little thief!" Alexander accepted the napkins from her hands, unwrapping them to find the small dinner rolls perfectly kept inside. "I ought to have you shipped off to New Holland like the rest of the bread thieves."

Emilie grinned at this, not in the least ashamed of her crime. She reminded him of a female Robin Hood. She was fearless. "Then you must be a thief too! What would your father say?"

"It's not what he would have to say in as much as what his cane would have to say," muttered Alexander, causing Emilie to burst into a fit of giggles. He took a bite of the dinner roll and stifled a moan. Bread never tasted as good as it did when eaten on a growling, grumbling stomach.

Her mission accomplished, Emilie headed back for the ledge only to stop at Alexander's shout.

"Stop! What are you doing?"

Emilie pivoted on her feet, eyes alert and wide with alarm.

Alexander, who was in the process of reaching for her before she could have a chance to climb the ledge, retracted his hand, his cheeks going a shade of pink at the idea that he'd very nearly touched a girl's naked arm. "Don't do that, it's dangerous. If you fall, it will kill you."

Emilie frowned, peering over the edge with half an eye. To his credit, they were several storeys up. "I climbed here and didn't die," she sniffed.

Alexander straightened. "It's not a question of whether you can and can't do it, Emilie. I would just prefer it if you didn't. It's... not becoming of a lady."

Emilie's frown soured. He knew what she was thinking. He was quoting his own father.

"Neither is being in a boy's room in my undergarments," she said by way of reply.

Did the girl always have a response to everything he said? Although, Alexander had to concede, she did have a point, and he was already in enough trouble as it was. Still though, one small misstep would mean sure demise and seeing Emilie hurt - or worse - was the last thing he could handle. He'd sooner endure a hundred more lashes than let Emilie climb back down to her room. With a sigh he held the door open for her.

"Come inside. We'll figure out another way to sneak you back to your room."

Emilie's eyes went wide when she saw Alexander's room. He couldn't help but feel the swell of pride in his chest as she took in the rich greens and browns that were its theme colours - true Darcy men colours. This had been his father's room and then his grandfather's before him. Long gone were the toys and games of his childhood, banished to the attic on his twelfth birthday only to be replaced by furniture and utensils befitting the young man he was becoming. Though today, he had to acknowledge ruefully, had been a step backwards – his still sore bottom a sure testament to the fact that if he chose to misbehave like a child, and lie to his parents as he had, then he would be punished like one.

"You could fit a house in here!" Emilie exclaimed with not a hint of propriety or tact.

"It's no bigger or smaller than the room you are currently using while you visit us," sniffed Alexander with the sort of snobbery his family name was notorious for.

Emilie pulled a face. "But I have to share it with mother and she talks in her sleep."

Alexander chuckled at this. "When does Aunty Lydia ever stop talking?"

Emilie gave him the roll of her eyes, the smirk tugging at her lips before Alexander's bookcase grabbed her attention and she gasped. "You like to read?"

"I do," said Alexander, watching the way she moved about his room, fingers gently tracing every surface, eyes wide with wonder as she took in every detail, as if to commit it all to memory. She was such a child.

She approached his bookcase and tilting her head, read aloud the many titles that lined the shelves, each one gifts from his parents or other members of his family.

"Caleb likes to read to me. I go into his bed and he will read any title I want until I fall asleep," she said.

Alexander couldn't help but recoil at that admission. "You share your brother's bed?"

Emilie glanced at him. "If you had a sister, wouldn't you?"

"No!" he said. "Boys and girls don't share a bed. It's not becoming of a lady."

That hint of a smirk returned but this time at his expense. "That's silly! When I was younger I used to share a bed with both of my brothers but George is older now. He has his own room." She picked a book from his shelf and held it out to him. "Will you read to me, Alexander?"

Alexander's glance fell from Emilie's wide, blue eyes to the book in her hands. It was a fairy story. La Belle et la Bête.

"This story is in French, Emilie. You don't speak French."

"Je fais!" she argued and Alexander snorted.

"That is the worst French I've ever heard. Where did you learn that?"

Emilie blushed. "Caleb. He is taking French lessons from Monsieur Deane. But the old man speaks with a lisp."

Alexander threw his head back and laughed.

Emilie watched him with a wide grin on her face. "So will you read to me?"

"Perhaps for a little while but you really need to- Emilie, what are you doing?!"

Emilie was too occupied with jumping onto his bed and slipping under the covers to hear his protests. Alexander vaulted onto the bed but the girl had vanished right under the blankets. A tiny lump near its centre was the only indicator that she was even there.

"Emilie!"

A giggle was all he got in response.

He frowned.

"Get out!"

"Non!" She replied in French.

Noting that she had left the book on his pillow, Alexander grabbed it and started to paddle the lump in the middle of his bed. The little French-speaking voice squealed, the lump moving and squirming about his feet until her head popped back up near the pillows, her face red and her eyes wet with tears of laughter. His sore bottom long forgotten, Alexander flopped onto the bed beside her, puffing from the sudden burst of unexpected exercise.

"You can't be in my bed!"

But Emilie was already making herself comfortable on the pillow. "Why?" she yawned.

"Because... because... you're not wearing socks!"

She grinned. "I promise I won't touch you with my feet."

Copying Emilie's yawn, Alexander shimmied underneath the covers next to her, just far enough that they didn't touch. Because girls and boys didn't share beds. But when Emilie snuggled up next to him and tucked her head under his chin, he found himself not desiring to fight her off. Her hair smelled just like lavender soap. She was so warm and soft. Just like the little cat that used to creep into his room and sleep on his bed before the maids chased it off. He opened the book and started to read to her.

When Alexander woke the next morning to the sound of the maid's light knock, it was in such a panic that he burst upright in the bed. But when he checked underneath the covers, Emilie was gone, the only sign her ever having been there that of the single rose left on his desk. That day, Emilie and her mother left for home. When he saw her next, she was no longer the strange little girl with dazzling, blue eyes.