Prologue

Longbourn 1789

A piercing scream echoed through Longbourn as Thomas Bennet sat in his library. He nervously downed another glass of port. Across the room, his brother Philips gave a hearty chuckle.

"Not too much now, Bennet. You don't want be too drunk to remember meeting your firstborn!"

Glancing ruefully at the half-empty decanter, Bennet stood and walked towards the window. "I had no idea how terrible this could be. It has been a day and a half since her waters broke, and still there is no child."

"It always takes longer with the first child."

"How would you know? You and Lucy haven't got any children!" retorted Bennet.

"My mother was a midwife. I know more about babies being born than probably any man in England. She took me along with her when my dad was at sea, as she didn't want to leave me at home where I could get into trouble."

Bennet stared in surprise at his brother-in-law. "How is it that I never knew that about you?"

Philips shrugged self-consciously. "I don't talk much about my childhood, I suppose. It wasn't easy, and it was very different than the life I've made for myself now. My parents sacrificed much so their only son could go to school and gain an education. They wanted better for me than what they had."

The conversation was interrupted by a knock at the door. Mrs. Hill, who served as both housekeeper and lady's maid for Fanny Bennet, poked her head in the door.

"Best you come up now, Mr. Bennet, and meet your child."

Without pausing to excuse himself from Philips, Bennet dashed out of the room and up the stairs to his wife's chamber. Fanny Bennet lay in bed, her sister at her side and the midwife near the dresser.

"Oh Thomas, we have a daughter," wailed Fanny.

Bennet stopped short and stared at the little bundle in his wife's arms. "A girl? Can I - can I see her?"

Mrs. Philips gently lifted the baby out of her sister's arms. She showed Thomas how to support the infant's head, and Thomas looked down at the child he held.

"She's beautiful, Fanny," he whispered.

The small babe had a head of blond hair with large eyes that slanted upwards slightly on the edges. One hand was flying around in the air, and he gently touched it with his finger. The babe closed her fist around his large finger, and Thomas felt his eyes fill with tears.

"Oh, Fanny, don't cry, love," he said tenderly, looking at his still-weeping wife. "You have given us a beautiful girl to dote on! We'll call her Jane, for my mother and your grandmother."

"But the entail!" the woman sobbed.

"God will provide," he said firmly. "For now, we will work on giving our daughter a dowry that will fit her beauty."

The midwife cleared her throat. "Mr. Bennet," she said, beckoning him towards her.

Bennet crossed the room to where the elderly woman stood. "Is there a problem?" he asked in a low whisper.

She pressed her lips together. "Do you see the palms of her hands?"

He lifted his finger and gently pried the fist open. After inspecting them for a moment, he looked at her and shrugged. "She seems to have all her fingers."

When his light-hearted tone fell flat, the joy he'd been feeling began to sink into a rock in his stomach. "What is it?" he insisted when the woman remained silent.

"She only has one line across the palm. And her toes… there's a large gap between the largest and the second. When you combine that with her eyes…" her voice trailed off.

"What?" he urged.

"I think she might be defective, sir."

A rushing sound filled his ears. "I beg your pardon?" he cried, startling the child in wailing.

Mrs. Philips took the baby from his arms and returned her to her mother, who put the babe to her breast. It was slow going, but eventually the babe began to suckle weakly.

Bennet watched a moment, calming his anger, before turning back to the midwife. "What did you say?"

The old woman pressed her lips together even more firmly. "I've seen this before, sir. Babies who have these deformities rarely live long. Those that do won't grow at a normal rate. She'll struggle to eat, never be able to learn how to read, and may not even be able to walk or talk."

Bennet felt as though he'd been hit with a carriage. "What are you meaning?"

"I'm saying it's best if we take the baby now away from its mother. Mrs. Bennet will not recover well if she bonds with the child, only to have the child die early or be too stupid to grow."

When Bennet's only response was a blank stare, the midwife sighed. "For your sake, and that of your wife's, we need to tell everyone the babe died in childbirth. Your wife is young and healthy."

"But what… what do you intend to do?"

"I know of a workhouse not too far from here. They take in infants in the hopes that they can be raised to work hard. The other option is to let the babe be out in the cold to hasten its passing."

"Are you telling me we should murder my daughter? Or send her - the daughter of a gentleman - to a workhouse?"

"Quiet!" she hissed at his loud voice, glancing warily at the new mother. "It's just what should be done, that's all. If word gets out that your wife carried a deformed child, any future children will be tainted. And since the child will most likely die young anyway, you'd only be hastening what nature intended all along."

Bennet swallowed hard and looked over at his wife, tears filling his eyes. "So you're telling me I have two choices. Sentence my firstborn to death, or destroy the hopes of my future children's lives?"

The midwife nodded solemnly. "There is only one right choice, sir."

Pemberley 1794

George Darcy stared down at his wife in disgust. "What have you done, Anne?" he seethed with fury. "You gave birth to this… this monster!"

The frail woman burst into hysterical cries. "Please, George. I didn't… I don't…"

"Who is the father? It clearly can't be me, as no Darcy has ever produced such evil!"

Lady Anne Darcy's weeping only increased. She shook her head vehemently, but her gasping sobs prevented any words from leaving her lips.

"We must get rid of it."

Darcy stepped forward with a snarl on his face, hands reaching out to take the infant from its mother's arms. She jerked away from him, shielding the bundled baby with her body.

Enraged, George tried once more to separate his wife from the child.

"Stop it!"

Both parents froze and turned towards the door. Eleven-year-old Fitzwilliam Darcy, who had come home from school on holiday, was standing in the frame with wide eyes, hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"Leave her alone," the gangly youth demanded, his voice cracking on the last word.

If the situation hadn't been so serious, the high tone would have caused his parents to smile. Instead, it caused George to turn from his wife and approach his son.

"Fitzwilliam, you don't understand -"

"You were hurting Mother! You want to get rid of the baby! Why?"

The anguish in the boy's words caused Lady Anne's sobs to begin again. "You can't do this, George. I swear to you, I have always been faithful. I don't know how -"

"Enough."

Lady Anne fell silent, her ashen face wet with tears burrowed into the bundle in her arms. George's shoulders sagged. "The babe can't stay here, Anne, Fitzwilliam."

"I have tried for another child for over a decade, George. You cannot take my baby away from me. Not when I've lost so many others."

"Please, Father."

George let out a tremendous sigh as his family waited breathlessly for his decision.