Chapter 1

1791

~ A true friend tells you when you're behaving like a crab and yet still walks beside you.

On a bright and breezy afternoon by the seaside of Ramsgate, young Master Fitzwilliam Darcy, aged fourteen, wandered down to the beach, his hands in his pockets and a hint of vexation clouding his otherwise bright brown eyes. He had been frustrated by his distant cousin George Wickham's mean jests and the dismissive wave by this father that Fitzwilliam needed thicker skin. And so, hoping the freedom of the shore would smooth his agitation, Fitzwilliam began to explore the tidal pools, his steps unhurried as he turned over stones and prodded at the seaweed.

As he crouched down near a particularly sparkling pool, intent on observing the darting little fish that swam there, he was startled by a small but determined voice from behind him.

"You shall not take that crab, sir! It is mine."

Fitzwilliam straightened and turned to face the source of the command. There stood a tiny girl, her hair a tumble of wild curls the colour of dark chocolate, and her cheeks flushed pink from the wind. She wore a simple frock and no shoes, with a bonnet dangling by its ribbons on her back, as though she had abandoned any attempt to wear it properly.

He blinked at her in surprise. "Yours?" he repeated, glancing at the rather ordinary crab scuttling about in the pool. "I don't see your personal crest sealed on it."

The little girl drew herself up to her full, rather diminutive height and planted her hands on her hips. "Well, of course, it does not have my name on it! But I saw it first, and that means it is mine." She eyed him with a suspicion that suggested she was quite accustomed to having her claims contested.

Fitzwilliam raised an eyebrow, amazed by her boldness. "And what, pray tell, are you going to do with it?" he asked, folding his arms across his chest. "It's not as though you can take it home and keep it."

The girl's expression was one of utmost seriousness. "I do not intend to keep it home as a lapdog, silly boy. I am conducting a most important experiment."

"An experiment?" Fitzwilliam echoed, trying and failing to suppress his astonishment. "And what nature?"

"I am trying to determine whether crabs prefer seashells that are big and grand or ones that are small and snug," she explained with the air of someone who knew perfectly well that they were engaged in a matter of great scientific import. "I have already tested five crabs, but they have all been dreadfully uncooperative. I thought perhaps this one would behave better."

Fitzwilliam bent down again, this time looking at the crab with genuine interest. "And how do you propose to make it choose?" he asked, casting a doubtful glance at the collection of seashells arranged in a neat line nearby. They varied in size and colour, from a delicate pink spiral no bigger than a thimble to a large, barnacle-encrusted monstrosity. He wondered how long it took the girl to collect them.

The girl gave a small huff, as though his question betrayed a lamentable ignorance. "It is quite simple. I position the crab before the shells and observe which one it chooses to crawl upon. But you must not interfere!" she added sharply, narrowing her eyes at him with a look that suggested she suspected him entirely capable of disrupting her delicate experiment.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Fitzwilliam assured her, though there was a glint of eagerness in his eye. He watched as she picked up the crab with surprising deftness and deposited it onto the sand before the line of shells, where it promptly scurried sideways in the opposite direction.

"Stop!" the girl cried, darting after it with remarkable speed for someone so small. She snatched up the crab again and set it down, this time closer to the shells. "You are meant to choose one of these, not run away!" She scolded.

The crab, however, seemed determined to thwart her experiment, for it refused to go near any of the shells, preferring instead to scutter away and dig furiously into the sand as though making a desperate bid for freedom.

Fitzwilliam bit back a laugh. "I don't think it wants to become a subject of experiment about its lodging," he said. "Perhaps it's rather fond of its manner of living."

The girl shot him an exasperated look. "This crab is being very obstinate," she declared. "But I shall not be deterred." She picked up two of the larger shells and set them directly in the crab's path, blocking its way. "There. Now you must choose."

To her credit, the crab did pause to regard the shells, its claws tapping delicately against the edge of one, as though in thoughtful deliberation. Yet, just as it seemed it might oblige the girl's wishes, it darted abruptly to the side and vanished into a narrow crevice between two rocks.

"Oh, botheration!" the girl cried, stamping her foot in a most unladylike fashion. "It has escaped me yet again!"

Fitzwilliam could no longer contain his laughter. "It would appear your experiment is proving rather more challenging than you had anticipated," he remarked, a grin playing at his lips as he observed her frustration.

She whirled around to face him, her cheeks flushed with indignation. "It is not a laughing matter!" she declared, though her pout was undeniably charming. "You would not find it so amusing if you were attempting to conduct an important inquiry, only to have it thwarted by misadventure!"

"Well, I suppose not," he said, doing his best to sound amiable, though his eyes still twinkled. "But it seems to me you might need some assistance. I could help you catch another crab—one that is less inclined to make a dash for freedom."

The girl tilted her head, regarding him with a suspicious frown. "Why should I trust you? You are a stranger, after all."

He bowed with exaggerated formality. "Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, at your service," he said, flashing her a smile. "And you are…?"

"Lizzy of Longbourn," she replied with a small curtsy, though she could not help but return his smile just a little. "I meant Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn. It's quite a mouthful. Very well, Fitzwilliam Darcy, I shall allow you to assist me—but only if you promise not to frighten the crabs."

"I shall be the very soul of gentleness," he assured her, and together they set off along the beach in search of another crab, Lizzy chattering excitedly about her theories while Fitzwilliam listened with a mixture of amusement and growing fascination for this small, determined scientist.

As they walked, Fitzwilliam spotted a particularly large crab ambling near the water's edge. "There, that one looks promising," he said, pointing it out.

Lizzy's eyes widened with delight. "Oh, yes! It is perfect!" she exclaimed, and without waiting for him, she dashed toward the crab with all the enthusiasm of a young explorer discovering a new land. Fitzwilliam followed, forgetting his vexation earlier in the day and a little more entertained by the minute.

Fitzwilliam followed closely behind as Lizzy dashed after the large crab, her tiny feet kicking up sand in her excitement. She stooped down to grab it, her tongue poking out slightly in concentration, but just as her fingers closed around the shell, the crab gave a spirited wriggle and managed to slip away. Unperturbed, Lizzy pursued it with renewed vigour, and after a few more attempts, she finally caught it and held it triumphantly up like a prize.

"I have it!" she cried, her eyes alight with triumph, as though she had just single-handedly vanquished an entire army.

Fitzwilliam grinned at her enthusiasm, his curiosity piqued by this peculiar little girl who seemed so determined to conduct her crab experiment. "You know, Miss Lizzy, most girls your age are more interested in dolls and tea parties than chasing crabs about on the beach," he remarked, peering into the distance of Ramsgate's promenade.

Lizzy gave him a look that seemed far too mature for her eight years. "Oh, but dolls are frightfully dull," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "They cannot move or speak or do anything of interest. Crabs, on the other hand, are quite fascinating."

"And why is that?" Fitzwilliam asked, genuinely curious now. "What makes a crab more captivating than a doll?"

Lizzy set the crab down in front of the shells, her expression one of deep contemplation. "Because a crab has life," she replied as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "It can choose where it goes, just like we can. As Aristotle said, 'All men by nature desire to know.' And I think that must apply to crabs too."

Fitzwilliam blinked in surprise, not quite certain he had heard her correctly. "Did you just quote Aristotle?" he asked with a slight tilt of the head.

"Yes," Lizzy said, matter-of-factly, as she nudged the crab closer to the line of shells with a gentle finger. "Aristotle was very wise. He wrote a great deal about nature and how everything has a purpose. I think he would approve of my experiment."

Fitzwilliam couldn't help but chuckle. "Well, I certainly didn't expect to hear about Aristotle while chasing crabs on the beach," he said, shaking his head in amazement. "How do you even know about him? I didn't learn anything about philosophers until I was at least ten. Pray, how old are you?"

"Didn't your mother teach you that it's indelicate to inquire about a lady's age!" Lizzy shook her head and continued. "My father has a great many books," she explained. "And I like to read them. He says it is important for young minds to be fed with knowledge. As Socrates said, 'Wonder is the beginning of wisdom.' And I wonder about many things."

Fitzwilliam regarded her with bewilderment. "So, you prefer books and crabs to dolls and silly games?" he asked, crouching beside her as she continued to observe the crab's movements.

"Of course," she said firmly. "Dolls are made of fabric and sawdust, but crabs have minds of their own. If I can understand what makes them choose one shell over another, then perhaps I can understand a great many other things too."

"I must say, you are quite unlike any little girl I have ever met, Miss Lizzy," he said. "I don't think I've ever met anyone who quoted Socrates to explain why they prefer catching crabs."

Lizzy beamed at the compliment. "Thank you," she said brightly, though her focus remained on her experiment. The crab had paused beside a rather dull-looking brown shell, its claws probing tentatively at the opening. "I do not see why a person should be limited by what is expected of them. 'It is not what happens to you, but how you react to it that matters.' If one must be a girl, one can at least be an intriguing one."

"Quoting Epictetus now," Fitzwilliam said. Her words prompted Fitzwilliam to think about the situation with George. He vowed to ponder more later about how to deal with his frustration. "But don't you ever wish to just… play? To run about without deeper thoughts?"

Lizzy tilted her head thoughtfully. "What's wrong with thinking while playing," she asked. "One can be silly and still learn something."

Fitzwilliam couldn't help but be charmed by her strange, philosophical outlook on life. "Well, then," he said, picking up one of the discarded shells and turning it over in his hand, "what would Herodotus say about this here? Do you think the crab is trying to write history as well, or merely find a new place to live?"

Lizzy giggled, the sound bright and cheerful. "Oh, I think it is trying to find a new place to live, certainly," she replied. "But perhaps in doing so, it is also making a little history of its own. Just as we are, right now."

Fitzwilliam watched her as she spoke, a small girl much younger than him quoting philosophers and talking of history as though it were the most natural thing in the world. "You know, Miss Lizzy, I think you may be right," he said. "This crab is indeed a rather important little fellow, if he is helping us make history."

She nodded vigorously, clearly pleased that he had come around to her way of thinking. "See?" she said, her eyes sparkling with mirth. "Even a disagreeable boy can be made to understand, if you quote enough philosophers at him."

"Disagreeable? Are you describing me?"

"Indeed!" Lizzy said, "when I first saw you, you had such a large frown that looked like a storm cloud looming on the horizon, ready to unleash its tempest."

"And now?" Fitzwilliam was baffled at how observant Lizzy was.

"Your face now softened like gentle waves, as if they were genteel ladies whispering sweet nothings to the sand."

"Comparing me to ladies! You shall pay for this jest in the future," Fitzwilliam roared with mock outrageous. "But you win this time, Miss Lizzy. I shall agree that there is far more to crabs and shells than I had ever thought possible."

Lizzy gave him a bright smile, her hands still clutching the errant crab as it attempted once more to escape her grasp. "Good," she declared, her tone as firm as a teacher's.

Lizzy returned the crab to the tidal pool with a gentle push, her interest in the creature evidently spent. Turning her attention to the scattered seashells at her feet, her expression shifted from that of a determined natural philosopher to one inspired by fanciful design. "This experiment shall require further consideration in the coming days," she declared, brushing the sand from her hands. "In the meantime, I shall create something else—something truly charming."

Fitzwilliam watched as she knelt down and began sorting through the shells with a thoughtful frown, her small hands pushing aside the dull, broken pieces in favour of the more colourful ones. "What are you going to do with them now?" he asked, his curiosity far from sated.

Lizzy looked up at him as if the answer were perfectly obvious. "I am going to make a necklace," she declared, holding up a particularly glistening shell and admiring the way it caught the light. "It shall be a birthday present for my sister Jane. She is turning ten in next week, and I want to give her something pretty."

Fitzwilliam tilted his head, intrigued by her new endeavour. "A seashell necklace for a young girl's ten birthday? Is that not rather a peculiar gift?"

"Not at all," Lizzy replied stoutly. "Jane shall love it because I made it myself. Besides, Jane says she likes 'natural beauty.' And what could be more natural than things one finds at the seaside?" She began gathering the shells into a little pile, sorting them by size and colour.

Fitzwilliam bent beside her, picking up a small, rose-coloured shell and holding it up for inspection. "And how, exactly, do you plan to string them together?" he asked. "I don't see any thread lying about."

Lizzy did not seem troubled by this practical concern. "Oh, I shall find something," she said with unwavering confidence. Rising to her feet, she began searching the beach, her sharp eyes sweeping the ground with the practiced ease of a child accustomed to making do with what she found. "There!" she exclaimed, her face lighting up as she spotted a long piece of seaweed washed ashore. "This will do nicely."

Fitzwilliam raised an eyebrow as he watched her pick up the slimy green strand and shake off the excess sand. "Seaweed?" he echoed, his tone sceptical. "Are you sure that's… fashionable?"

Lizzy gave him a lofty look. "It is called being ingenious," she said, as though he were woefully uninformed. "One cannot always have ribbons and fine threads, you know." She began threading the shells onto the seaweed, poking holes in the tougher ones with a sharp stone. While some seashells broke, she persisted with her task.

Fitzwilliam leaned in closer, watching the curious process. "And is there a logic in your selection of seashells for use?"

Lizzy raised an eyebrow, eyeing him as though the answer were quite self-evident. "Well, the prettiest ones must go in the front," she explained. "So when Jane wears it, they will be seen at once. The ones that are chipped or less charming can go in the back where no one will notice. It's called 'arrangement,'" she added, with a tone that suggested she had just taught him something very profound.

Fitzwilliam smirked, nodding as though he were a student receiving a lesson. "I see. And does this 'arrangement' principle extend to other things in life?"

Lizzy paused in her task to consider this. "Well, I suppose so. Such as in my family," she said. "Jane is the eldest, and she is the prettiest, so she goes in the front. Then there is me, quite fine, but definitely less in beauty. And then there's Mary, Kitty and Lydia, who is only three and a complete bother, so she goes last."

Fitzwilliam shook his head at the comparison. "I see. And do you think poor Miss Lydia would agree with this arrangement?"

"Oh, Lydia would not mind," she said airily. "She is too busy making noise and putting things in her mouth to think about such matters." She wrinkled her nose. "Just last week, she licked the inkwell and Mama had to scrub her tongue for hours!"

Fitzwilliam laughed. "Your sister sounds like a very… spirited little girl," he said. "Much like her sister here. I suppose she keeps you on your toes with her constant experimenting."

"Experimenting? She is plenty of trouble!" Lizzy said, threading another shell onto the seaweed with a deft hand. "But Jane says that's what little sisters are for. And since I have no say in the matter of arranging Lydia's activities, I shall have to believe Jane." She held up the half-finished necklace, eyeing it critically before reaching for a deep blue shell that had been lying to the side.

Fitzwilliam picked up the blue shell and handed it to her. "And what of your sister Jane? Is she the perfect, proper young lady one would expect?"

"Oh, she tries to be," Lizzy replied with a mischievous glint in her eye. "She is always telling me not to climb trees or dig in the dirt, and she likes to read poetry out loud in a very serious voice. But I've seen her sneak tarts out of the kitchen when she thinks no one is looking, so I know she isn't entirely perfect. I shouldn't have told you as I promised to keep the secret for her."

Fitzwilliam crossed his hand on his heart. "I shall not tell another soul. And what will your mother think of all this seaside jewellery-making?"

"Mama says I should 'engage in more ladylike pastimes,'" Lizzy said, rolling her eyes as if the idea were absurd. "But she also says that it keeps me out of trouble, so she doesn't really mind. She has bigger worries."

"What kind of worries?"

"Our estate is entailed to the male line. We don't have a brother yet, but Mama is with child again. She is hopeful this time. She worries that our cousin will throw us all out when Papa dies. Uncle Edward often says that if Papa invested in his business, we would all have decent dowries when we married." Lizzy crinkled her nose as if she had caught a whiff of something foul. She continued, "Mama would have a nice dower house to live in. Papa will only retort that surely God will give mercy to Mama to let her die before him, and he doesn't intend to invest his money to bribe worthless young men to marry us." She shrugged her shoulders and added a particularly smooth, pale shell to the necklace.

Fitzwilliam furrowed his brows at the callous words of Lizzy's father, especially in view of Mrs. Bennet's condition. Rather than focussing on that, Fitzwilliam said with an encouraging smile, "Your skill in knotting the seaweed is amazing. What a clever little lady you are, Miss Lizzy!"

Lizzy accepted the compliment with a bright smile. "That's because you are a boy, and boys do not often think of such clever things," she said with a hint of smugness.

"Oh, indeed?" Fitzwilliam replied, feigning offense. "And here I was, thinking myself quite helpful. It seems I still have much to learn."

"Quite," she said, her tone one of mock superiority. She tied off the last shell and held up the completed necklace with a look of satisfaction. "There! Isn't it splendid? Jane will be the most fashionable young lady in all of Hertfordshire."

Fitzwilliam examined the necklace, its colourful assortment of shells glinting in the sunlight. "It is very fine indeed," he admitted. "And certainly a one-of-a-kind creation."

Lizzy beamed at his approval. "I do hope Jane likes it," she said, wrapping the necklace carefully with a handkerchief from her pocket. "If she does not, I shall gift it to Minerva."

"Who is that?"

"Our cat! I named her after the Roman goddess of wisdom, for she is real clever."

Fitzwilliam shook his head, grinning. He would have loved to see Lizzy trying to wrap the rough seashell necklace around the neck of a crafty feline.

Do let me know your thoughts—does this chapter shine like a well-shelled crab, or does it need more polish? (But trolls: No need to comment—I'll be happily tossing any foul language into the sea!)