Chapter One
Elizabeth Bennet was angry. No, furious. She had just wheedled out a morsel of information from her father, beloved though he was, that set her teeth on edge. Presently, she stood with the oldest and favorite of her sisters, Jane.
"I cannot believe Father has allowed this! This…this aberration in error! This overlarge lapse in judgment! This–this–"
"Am I to understand that you've heard the news, then, Lizzy?" Jane asked with perfect serenity.
Elizabeth balled her hands up in fists. "And am I to understand that you knew about this already, Jane?"
Her sister nodded, smiling slightly. "Lizzy, I do think you're overreacting. Please, come and sit down, before you work yourself into–"
"Is this not the worst outcome imaginable?" Elizabeth all but shouted, very nearly stamping her foot in a very un-ladylike sort of way.
"-a frenzy," sighed Jane. She held out her hand. "Dearest, do sit." Elizabeth obliged, granting her sister her hand, face contorted into a frown. "It is my sense," Jane began gently, "that you are–no, listen to me, Elizabeth–that you are worried about our sister. You are worried," she said, louder, as Elizabeth opened her mouth to reply, "that Lydia will be susceptible to the same dangers that befell me in my first year out. That is why you do not wish for Lydia to make her entrance into society this year. Is this not true?"
"No," Elizabeth said begrudgingly, feeling a little chastised at the use of her full name from her adored sister's lips.
Jane squeezed Elizabeth's hand. "I think it is important to remember two things. First, no harm ever occurred to me–truly, it did not, Lizzy–I am content and as unattached to any man as one might be. Second, Lydia has the advantage: she has her four sisters to protect her."
"And Mama," Elizabeth added softly.
"And Mama," Jane agreed, bell-like voice chiming in an indulgent laugh. "Mama is quite certain that no unworthy man will be granted the honor of our hand–on the dance floor or in matrimony," she said thoughtfully.
Elizabeth let out a huff of relief. Jane was right. While young and silly as young people tended to be, her fifteen year old sister Lydia, a favorite of her mothers, would not be allowed to be whisked away for a waltz, much less married by anyone less than a gentleman who had at least a clear 5000 a year to his name.
"There you go," Jane smiled. "Now, we best get ready. A youngest sister only makes her debut once in a lifetime, afterall." With a knowing twinkle in her eye, Jane Bennet stood and swept out of the room.
