Forget Me Not, Elizabeth, Chapter 1

When working together to solve a mystery is the surest path to love… Darcy and Elizabeth are the main targets — for Cupid and for crime — in a new Mysteries & Matrimony standalone novel.

Here’s a taste of the adventure that awaits you.

CHAPTER ONE

Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy. Elizabeth Bennet wrinkled her nose at her signature. Much too commanding and formal. Dipping her quill into the inkwell, she tested another variant.
Mrs. Lizzy Darcy. She twisted her lips. That was not quite right either. Far too inelegant, informal … no matter how lovely the “L” swooped and curled on the page.
Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy. She sighed contentedly, signing her forthcoming name once more, exaggerating the loop on the “Y” with flourish. Nearly perfect.
She filled the cream surface with the surname she would forever use once she signed her name beside her husband’s in the marriage register that morning.
Her husband. Elizabeth’s heart hummed. The three previous weeks, during which the banns had been read, were a torture, forcing her to be patient when she would rather not, but today was her reward. Finally, she would marry the man she truly, deeply, madly — nay, not madly. Never that! — ardently … Yes, ardently loved.
“Sit still, if you please, Miss. I am nearly done,” Sarah repeated. The maid had spent the past hour braiding and twisting Elizabeth’s hair into submission, carefully poking bunches of bishop’s lace between sprays of pink and white roses from Mama’s garden — the first blooms of summer.
Daydreaming of her Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth traced her finger over her favorite signature, and attempted to be still while her emotions twirled and rejoiced. Today was the day.
“There,” Sarah said, stepping back and clasping her hands at her chin to admire her handiwork. “You are lovely, Miss. As beautiful as ever.”
Elizabeth was grateful. She was not given to vanity, but for days she had dreaded waking on her wedding day to an uncontrollable mane and a face full of unsightly blemishes.
“Sarah! Oh, where is that girl?” Mama called from her rooms.
Sarah pinched her eyes closed with a forbearing sigh.
Elizabeth stifled a laugh. Her mother was renowned for her nervous spasms, and today being the day which would go a long way in alleviating the source of her nerves — that of seeing two of her daughters married well and settled — she had been particularly demanding that morning and would remain so until vows were exchanged, their unions official. “Thank you, Sarah. Your nimble fingers accomplished what I could not have dared.”
Pleased, Sarah bobbed a curtsy. “I will see to Mrs. Bennet,” she said, her step lighter than her usual trudge.
For the first time since waking, Elizabeth was alone. She knew it would not last for long, nor would she wish it to, so she enjoyed the moment, the calm before the storm … or, more appropriately put, the celebration.
Billowing curtains and the soft, sweet breeze beckoned Elizabeth to the window. Even the weather cooperated, adding to the perfection of the wedding day she and Fitzwilliam would share with her sister Jane and Mr. Bingley. A double wedding.
Her father came into view from the direction of the orchard behind the house. He was difficult to miss with his white, wide-brimmed hat and long, damask coat joined with a frothy veil of the finest lace. Elizabeth smiled, remembering how Mama’s rapture when Papa had brought the delicate lace home had turned to horror when he cut a big circle out of the center and had Mrs. Hill stitch it onto his old hat and stiff coat. What she had thought to be a rare, thoughtful gift was the start of Papa’s latest obsession — bees. Mama did not approve, but she was relieved enough that he had moved on from collecting beetles — they all were — that she did not object so long as the hive’s residents stayed in their dwelling … and far away from hers.
Mama’s shrill voice traveled the length of the hall. “Mary, do not dawdle. Fordyce’s sermons are not so enthralling you cannot resume your reading until after the service. Kitty, if you insist on this incessant coughing, you shall have to watch the ceremony through the stained glass window. I will allow for no interruptions on this glorious, blessed day.” A clap of her hands, and Elizabeth imagined her mother raising her face heavenward when she continued in one breath, “We are saved! A few more hours, and we are saved! Such clever girls, my Jane and Lizzy. They will put you in the way to marry well, Kitty, and I daresay, even your chances of making a match are much improved, Mary, with such handsome, wealthy gentlemen as your brothers-in-law.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. She had never been Mama’s favorite, but her engagement had covered over all of her sins so far as her mother was concerned.
Jane drifted into the bedchamber, golden tendrils framing her porcelain cheeks, an English rose in full bloom.
“You are beautiful, Jane.”
Ever the modest, soft-spoken one of the five Bennet sisters, Jane looked down, a becoming blush gracing her features. When she looked up again, her eyes beamed brightly, her smile wide. “As are you, Lizzy.” She crossed the room, clasping Elizabeth’s hands in her own. No embraces. Not yet. Easily crushed muslin and wrinkled silk did not allow them. However, once their new gowns had been properly and dutifully admired, Elizabeth planned to hug her sisters, her mama, and papa until her arms grew heavy.
“Can you believe this day has finally arrived? I thought it would never come,” Jane said with as much impatience as Elizabeth had ever heard her sister express.
“I have been pinching myself all morning to be certain this is not a dream. It is all so perfect, so wonderful.”
“To think I shall be the mistress of Netherfield Park before the day’s end, and you of Pemberley. I can hardly believe our good fortune.” Jane plucked at the satin ribbon tied at her waist. “I almost wish Charles had not invited so many relatives and friends for the ceremony and wedding breakfast.” She dropped her voice. “I am happy to share my joy with those who are important to him, but I hope it is not selfish of me to wish to have those first precious hours after we are wed to ourselves. Just my husband and me.”
Elizabeth chuckled in commiseration. “I should worry more if you did not wish to spend more time with your new husband.” More comfort than that, she could not offer, for unlike Bingley, Fitzwilliam had invited no one from his side of the family at all. Elizabeth had agreed it was for the best. His aunt Lady Catherine de Bourgh would only stir up trouble. His little sister, Georgiana, was busy preparing Pemberley for their arrival with the help of his uncle and aunt Matlock. And his cousin Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, the only other relation besides Lady Catherine and Miss de Bourgh of Elizabeth’s acquaintance, would dine with them that evening at Darcy House in London.
Each of them had sensible excuses. Completely comprehensible, given the shortness of their engagement. But a little niggle of suspicion — fed by the repeated and indisputable proofs Fitzwilliam had given that his love was stronger than his aversion to her sometimes offensive-but-always-well-meaning family — spurred her to expect that his side of the family would not be so poorly represented.
As constant as Fitzwilliam had always been, he was a man of surprises. The depth of his attachment had been tested to the full. Not only had she rudely refused him once, accusing him of the cruelest, ungentlemanly behavior toward a man undeserving of her sympathy, but when her youngest sister, Lydia, had run away with that same ne’er-do-well, Fitzwilliam had hunted them down and covered over their transgressions with a layer of respectability. He had arranged their marriage and saved her family from ruin.
And still, after all that trouble, he chose her. Shame at how wrongly she had misjudged him heated her cheeks. However, those same formidable obstacles which had so nearly prevented them from seeing each other for who they, in reality, were, also convinced Elizabeth that their love would endure. Theirs was not a love easily won … and, therefore, just as easily lost or neglected. No, they had fought for each other, longed for each other when hope was gone, changed their views and refined their characters. There was nothing left but for them to be splendidly happy.
Jane tried to smile, and Elizabeth reeled her wandering thoughts back to her sister. Of what use was it to lament the present or ponder the past when a delightful future awaited both of them? Elizabeth squeezed Jane’s hands. “We have the rest of our lives to spend with our husbands.”
“That is what I keep telling myself, but I still envy you for being able to depart for London after the feast when I shall have a houseful of guests.”
“You, envious?” Elizabeth teased, then groaned inwardly when she observed her usually serene sister chewing on her lip and furrowing her brow. She ought to sympathize with her. After all, she would be equally displeased had she been in Jane’s position, having her capabilities as a hostess tested so soon and under the critical eyes of Mr. Bingley’s pernicious sisters. “Oh, Jane, you will rise to the occasion as you always do.”
“It is not only that. I will own I am nervous, but…” She paused, searching for the right words. “It is that … I hope I shall always be kind … but neither do I wish for others to take advantage of my kindness or that of my husband.”
Shaking her head, Elizabeth lifted Jane’s chin, looking her firmly in the eye. “You will make Mr. Bingley an excellent wife and an exceptional mistress of Netherfield Park, and I have no doubt that you will both be very happy.”
Creaky floorboards and the uneven rhythm of Mrs. Hill’s arthritic footstep announced Longbourn’s housekeeper. “I had hoped to catch both of you,” she said, squinting her eyes and clucking her tongue at Sarah’s handiwork before expressing her approval with a firm nod. Her purpose seen to, her face softened. Brushing her rough fingers over Elizabeth’s cheek with one hand and Jane’s with the other, Mrs. Hill said tenderly, “I wish you all the happiness in the world on this blessed day. Longbourn will not be the same without you.”
Elizabeth reached up, placing her hand on top of Mrs. Hill’s, leaving Jane to express the gracious words the elderly woman needed to hear. While fewer ladies in the household would certainly lessen the housekeeper’s workload, Elizabeth was certain her mother would have little difficulty finding other ways in which to occupy Mrs. Hill’s time.
Mrs. Hill dropped her hands to dab at her cheeks. With a sniff, she turned toward the window. “As many times as I have shut this window for you, Miss Lizzy, I daresay I shall miss chastising you for leaving it open so often.”
As unapologetic as Mrs. Hill was forgiving, Elizabeth merely smiled. She hoped Pemberley’s housekeeper was as caring as Longbourn’s.
A heavy tread caught Elizabeth’s attention, and she looked out to the hall to see the new footman stand beside the doorway. Thatcher cleared his throat and tapped on the door frame. “Mrs. Hill, if I might beg a moment.”
Mrs. Hill rolled her eyes. Elizabeth bit her tongue. Thatcher was her mother’s pride and joy … and the bane of the Hills’ existence. Men of a certain age suitable for service were scarce while the country was at war. They preferred to seek their fortunes in the Navy or satisfy their obligations to nation and family by enlisting in the regulars. The few who remained behind were usually unfit in some way, and Thatcher was no exception. However, his deficiency was not visible, and being young and handsome in his livery, Mama was quick to praise her find. So long as he was not given too many instructions, he showed her choice to advantage.
“What is it, Thatcher?” Mrs. Hill asked through an exasperated sigh.
He scratched his head. “I am sorry to disrupt you, ma’am, but I cannot find Mr. Hill. I thought I saw him going out to the carriage house, but when I followed him there, I saw nobody. And by the time I returned to the house, I could not recall why you had sent me to find him. I swept the flagstones outside the kitchen, hoping the activity would help me remember.” Bowing his head, he added quietly, “I regret to say it did not work.”
Good-naturedly, Mrs. Hill suggested he reserve his mental exertions for the wedding breakfast and leave Mr. Hill to her.
“Mrs. Hill! Mrs. Hill, I need you!” shrieked Mama.
With a parting glance, the housekeeper disappeared down the hall with Thatcher, no doubt repeating the same instructions she had been instilling in him since the first reading of the banns.
“Poor Mrs. Hill. Mama will run her off her feet by the end of the day,” said Jane.
Elizabeth had not added her sympathy to Jane’s before their mother burst into their bedchamber.
“It is a disaster! I am at my wit’s end, and Mr. Bennet is nowhere to be found. He is not in his study.” Mama flailed her arms in the air, adding, “The father of the brides is missing, we will be late unless we depart soon, and I just now realized that we cannot all fit into the carriage without crushing your gowns beyond reparation.” She flicked her fan open, waving it fitfully at her flushed face. “My poor nerves. If Mr. Bennet does not return soon, I shall have to send the footman out to fetch him. I daresay he is dawdling with his bees.”
Suspecting her father’s absence had as much to do with avoiding Mama’s nerves as the inevitability of Elizabeth’s departure to a far-away estate, she suggested, “Mama, why do you not go in the carriage with Jane, Kitty, and Mary? I will send Thatcher to find Papa, and by the time the carriage returns, he will be ready to accompany me.”
Mama shook her head. “I should rather the brides arrive at the same time.”
“The distance is short, and the delay will only be minutes. However, our dresses and slippers will be pristine, and you will be allowed to ensure everything else is arranged by the time I arrive. If you depart now, the ceremony will start on the appointed hour.”
Elizabeth saw her mother was still unconvinced. She added, “Nothing will go wrong, Mama. What could happen on such a perfect day?”
Mama huffed. Tapping Elizabeth on the shoulder with her fan, she added, “Never tempt fate aloud, Lizzy. Until your names are signed beside Mr. Bingley’s and Mr. Darcy’s, I will have no rest. There is nothing else to be done. We shall have to make two trips.” In a flurry of eau de parfum, she gathered her daughters and herded them out to the waiting carriage.
Alone once again, Elizabeth stood in the center of her room, taking a deep breath and spinning in a slow circle.
Today was real. She and Jane had spent their last night together in the bedchamber they had always shared. The faded floral wallpaper, the scarred chair by the window, the collection of candle stubs by which she read at night, the dressing table which had belonged to her great-grandmother, the armoire with the squeaky door, the rug Mrs. Hill had knitted to keep the chill from her feet when she woke in the morning. Longbourn had been a wonderful, comfortable home.
As much as Elizabeth looked forward to exploring Derbyshire with Fitzwilliam, she was certain she would miss her childhood abode … eventually. Just not today.
Today was for unbridled joy and hard-won celebration. The excitement of exploring her new home (and her new husband) sent tingles of anticipation through her limbs.
She would leave this room for the last time as Miss Elizabeth Bennet. When she next returned, she would be Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy.

Stay tuned for Chapter 2! And you can preorderyour copy here.