Chasing Elizabeth Read online

  Chasing Elizabeth

  Mysteries & Matrimony, Book 3

  Jennifer Joy

  “Chasing Elizabeth: A Pride & Prejudice Variation

  Mysteries & Matrimony, Book 3 ”

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems — except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews — without permission in writing from its publisher, Jennifer Joy.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, locations, and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Published by Jennifer Joy

  Email: [email protected]

  Copyright © 2020 Jennifer Joy

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-944795–32-0

  Contents

  Free Extra Scenes

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Epilogue

  Thank you!

  About the Author

  Other Books by Jennifer Joy

  Free Extra Scenes

  Want access to free bonus scenes?

  Join Jennifer's New Release Newsletter here!

  Chapter 1

  Elizabeth Bennet flung off her covers, morning chill and anticipation prickling her skin and awakening her senses. She had to leave quickly if she were to leave at all.

  Every floorboard groaned. Every breath thundered. Every brush of fabric as she donned her costume scratched. Sounds nobody heard during the daytime deafened at dawn, and no matter how many times Elizabeth had performed this same routine, the nerve-tingling urgency and panic never ceased to accompany her.

  She could not risk waking the household.

  Plaiting her hair and pinning it in place, she reached in the dim light for the brooch she always left beside her book on the bedside table. It was her favorite — the one Uncle Gardiner had bought for her in Italy ages ago, before the war. Elizabeth ran her finger tenderly over the uneven stones — emerald malachite; bright turquoise; vibrant lapis lazuli; and aventurine in Spring grass green, Summer sun yellow, and Autumn orange — carefully arranged in an intricate, miniature puzzle creating a colorful mosaic of the Italian countryside. She would travel there. Someday.

  Until that blessed day, Elizabeth wore her uncle’s thoughtful gift on the lapel of her riding habit with pride. Were it not for her dear aunt and uncle’s efforts on her behalf, she doubted her father would allow her and her sisters to venture so far as even London.

  That Aunt and Uncle Gardiner had persuaded him to allow Elizabeth to accompany them North through Derbyshire the approaching summer — where her aunt had spent most of her youth — was a modern-day miracle. They might even travel farther to the Lake District. Elizabeth hoped so.

  Less than two months remained until her grand adventure. Forty-seven days to be precise. Forty-seven days which could not pass by quickly enough to suit Elizabeth.

  Her morning escapades were her only relief from the tedium of watching the clock tick through the never-ending days.

  Elizabeth tiptoed down the hall to the stairs, skipping the creaky fourth step from the bottom.

  She paused, holding her breath and listening. Nothing.

  Heart in throat, she checked the time on the mantel clock in the drawing room, suspecting the hour before the device confirmed it. The soft glow of dawn’s first light meant she would not have to tarry about Longbourn until it was safer to walk alone through the fields. It was bad enough for a young lady, a gentleman’s daughter, to deprive herself of an escort when stories of spies and highwaymen filled the newspapers.

  But, of what use was stolen freedom if she was unwilling to seize it? Of what use was life if it was not lived fully? She was not careless. Her father knew the path she walked, and he knew she would be back at home by breakfast. She walked quickly, with purpose, and she always carried in hand whatever stone or twig she could find should she require it for her defense (although it felt silly and unnecessary, for nothing of significance ever happened around Longbourn.)

  With a sigh of relief, Elizabeth backed away from the front door, watching the upstairs windows should a candle appear. Then, turning, she ran across the drive, every step lighter than the one before. This was the moment she lived for — the glorious anticipation of what was to come, the energizing prospect of seeing Tempest.

  The air was damp from yesterday’s rain, but the path Elizabeth had worn through the fields connecting her father’s estate of Longbourn to Lucas Lodge had dried enough to lose its slickness. She would have to exercise greater caution today lest Tempest lose her footing on the saturated earth.

  Her dear friend Charlotte Lucas stood in front of the stables, beside her father’s groom.

  Elizabeth hoped she had not kept them waiting long. Tossing her stick to the side and scampering forward, she shouted, “Good morning!”

  Charlotte held her hands out, greeting Elizabeth with a warm smile. “I was hoping you would arrive earlier than normal,” she said, looking over her shoulder at the groom as if to say I told you so.

  Mercer’s face creased in a smile as wide as Charlotte’s. He had been the groom at Lucas Lodge stables since Sir William had purchased the estate before Charlotte was born. Mercer and Charlotte had taught Elizabeth everything she knew of horses and equestrian skill.

  She teased, “After two days of poor weather, Papa would have had to lock me in my room to keep me away.”

  “Nonsense,” Charlotte retorted, allowing the groom to help her onto her mount. “Mr. Bennet would never do something so contrary to his character, and if he did, I imagine you would climb out of the window. He is not ignorant of your morning activities, and yet he has not prohibited you from coming.”

  “Not directly,” Elizabeth mumbled. Her father did not prohibit much at all where his family was concerned, lacking the initiative required to exert himself in setting such limitations or the persistence to enforce them. But he held strong feelings against the two things Elizabeth longed for the most: travel and a horse of her own she was free to ride whenever she wished. One complemented the other, and both promised everything Elizabeth lacked in her life: adventure. The thrill of having new experiences and meeting new people with customs she had only read about — would only read about, if her father had anything to do with it — would have to wait another forty-seven days. An eternity in Elizabeth’s mind.

  Not wanting to waste time dwelling on things she would rather not, she turned to Joe, the stable boy. He held a grumbling bay mare tightly by the reins.

  “I see you have selected my favorite this morning, Mercer,” she said. Flipping the forelock out of the horse’s big, brown eyes, Elizabeth rubbed the star underneath. “Good day to you, Tempest. I have missed you
dearly.”

  The groom’s eyes smiled, adding to the creases lining his face. “Ay, Miss Elizabeth. Tempest needs a good run. She is restless today.” Taking the reins from Joe, who looked relieved to hand them over, Mercer led Tempest to the mounting block. Elizabeth settled onto the sidesaddle while he checked the girth one more time, a cautious habit of his that both she and Charlotte appreciated. Those who extolled the propriety of riding aside had never had their feet trapped under them when their sidesaddle slipped. Elizabeth would have disregarded such pious arguments and ridden astride, but she was not so foolish as to believe her reputation — and consequently, that of her family — would not suffer if she chose to rebel against society’s restrictive rules. It did not, however, prevent her from dreaming of dressing as a boy one day merely to experience what it was like to ride astride as the men did. Shocking!

  Tempest pulled at the reins.

  “You are restless, too, are you?” Elizabeth said in a soothing tone.

  “Much like the lady who rides her, I should say,” Charlotte said, leading them past the length of the stables to the open fields beyond.

  Elizabeth chuckled. “We are a match. I am grateful you have held on to her as long as you have.”

  Charlotte sighed, her smile fading as she looked at the bay mare. “Nobody wants her, poor girl. George has tried to sell her several times, but her temperament is too strong. My brother is not one to give up, though. He heard of a gentleman who is planning to let Netherfield Park soon, and he intends to offer Tempest to him for a price few would refuse.”

  Elizabeth’s heart sank. Tempest was not obstinate or headstrong. She merely knew what she wanted and accepted nothing less. Was that so wrong? Should a lady — er, horse — not have a mind of her own? Must she always succumb to the will of others obediently, without question?

  Forcing a lightness she did not feel, Elizabeth said, “Someone is to let Netherfield Park at last? Now, that is good news!” She prayed he would be a kind master to Tempest. Too many treated spirited horses harshly in an effort to break them, and Elizabeth could not bear to think Tempest might be subjected to such a life.

  “It is rumored he is unmarried,” Charlotte added with a sly smile.

  Elizabeth tensed. “And so the race begins,” she muttered.

  “Indeed. My mother is already scheming.”

  “As will mine as soon as she finds out. The poor gentleman will sooner wish he had not settled in Hertfordshire when the matrons chase after him like a fox in the hunt to be caught like a prize for their daughters’ matrimonial felicity.”

  Despite her comment, Elizabeth understood her mother’s tenacity. Still, understanding did not make it any less painful to witness her mother’s ruthless persecution of prospective husbands for her five unmarried daughters. Especially when Elizabeth was in no hurry to marry. She knew what she wished for in a husband, and she would accept nothing less.

  Charlotte smiled softly. “I only hope he is slightly past his prime. Old enough to have developed an appreciation for maturity and sensibility. In looks, I would rather he be plain. That would suit me nicely, for no woman wishes to marry an ugly man. However, I do not flatter myself that I shall marry a handsome one.”

  “You do not give yourself enough credit, Charlotte,” Elizabeth exclaimed. “What of love? Do you not wish for a man to stir your heart? You would have me believe you could be content with a stodgy clergyman when I have always seen you more suited to a dashing army captain.”

  “I am not like you, Lizzy. I am not romantic. Give me a cottage and a constant heart, and I will declare myself happy enough.”

  Elizabeth rebelled at the thought. She wanted more — for herself, as well as for Charlotte and her own sisters. Surely, the world contained enough love matches to suit them all … if ever she could see more of it.

  Knowing better than to voice her concerns aloud to her overly practical, exceedingly rational friend, Elizabeth changed the subject. “Did you read the latest news in the papers? About the British spy who thwarted a ring of smugglers selling secrets to the French?”

  “I am only shocked they have not yet bestowed a clever nom de guerre on the gentleman. Some combination of color and flower,” Charlotte said dryly.

  Elizabeth laughed. “Like The Scarlet Pimpernel? Or The Pink Carnation? Or The Purple Gentian? Perhaps they will call him The Yellow Archangel, The White Orchid, or The Jolly Daisy.”

  “Jolly is not a color. You know what I mean, Lizzy. The papers feed the romanticism of their readers to sell more copies. He will have a name soon enough, and young ladies and old alike will swoon over his daring adventures.”

  “You must admit that being a spy is a rather romantic profession.”

  Charlotte shook her head. “I fear for you. You only have one more year until you reach your majority, and I can attest to how swiftly the time goes by … and how cruelly … when you have no prospects and must face the disappointment of becoming a burden to your family.”

  Elizabeth could not stomach the commonly held view that a lady’s sole purpose in life was to marry, and to marry well. “It is not so bad as that, Charlotte. You have time. There is more to life than matrimony.”

  “You would do well to clear your thoughts of romantic notions before you must settle down and marry. It is our duty.”

  Those were provoking words. Charlotte knew that. Her controlled expression revealed nothing, but something must be wrong. Charlotte never incited an argument when her calm sense proved more effective in making her point.

  “You are particularly practical this morning, Charlotte. What has brought this on?”

  Charlotte looked over her shoulder. As usual, Mercer rode behind them — at a sufficient distance to allow them private conversation while offering protection.

  Whatever Charlotte said was not meant to be overheard.

  For the second time that morning, Elizabeth’s heart lodged in her throat.

  “I can confide in you, Lizzy, I know,” Charlotte whispered. “I overheard my father talking with my brothers.”

  Charlotte admitting to eavesdropping? This bore ill.

  “The estate is in debt, and unless John marries into a fortune — a vain hope, I know as well as you do—” the words tumbled out of Charlotte’s mouth only for her to cut them short.

  Elizabeth huffed. She held little compassion for irresponsible older brothers. John Lucas would not marry just anyone. Oh no. He had been brought up for greater things and now, past the age of forty, he required not only a fortune but also a title. Anything to wash the tint of trade from his name and to be addressed by something grander than his father, Sir William … who had at least done something other than marry to secure a knighthood and the title that came with it.

  “I see you understand my predicament,” Charlotte said, her voice quivering. Emotion never overcame Charlotte, and the hopelessness in her tone tore at Elizabeth’s heart. This was grave.

  There had to be a way out. “What of George’s horses? Can they not save the estate?” Elizabeth asked.

  George Lucas was the second son. Unlike his elder brother, he was responsible. Once Sir William had sold his interests in trade, along with all means of increasing his fortune, George had taken up the only method of gain society permitted gentlemen. He bred and trained horses.

  Charlotte sighed. “It is not enough. One of our stallions would have to sire a racehorse or some other impossible scheme for the ton to take notice of us. George does well enough, and I am grateful he does what he can, but we cannot forget to take into account my eldest brother’s habits. It is a pity he is to inherit instead of George. My future would not feel so precarious…”

  Elizabeth understood precarious futures. The Bennet daughters’ interests were not provided for any better than Charlotte’s were, and Elizabeth’s mother lived in constant dread of her husband perishing before all five of her offspring married and settled.

  As much as Elizabeth wished for a love match, she knew that if she di
d not find it in a timely fashion, she would soon enough find herself in the same situation as Charlotte — desperate and on the edge of spinsterhood without a penny to her name. A burden to her family.

  She shook the dreadful prospect from her mind. This morning was not providing the release she craved at all. If anything, she felt encumbered. Trapped. Defeated.

  No, never defeated! She would not succumb, nor would she allow Charlotte to wallow in gloom and doom. Not when they still had their freedom and sense enough to plan a better solution. Why waste the beauty of a new morning full of promise on distressing possibilities which might never come to pass? No. Elizabeth possessed too much hope to fall prey to the depths of despair.

  “… And so, you see how the responsibility to marry into a fortune falls onto me,” Charlotte said. “Forgive me if I seem downcast, but it is a desperate situation. I am neither very young nor sufficiently pretty.”

  Elizabeth snapped, “I will not hear you speak ill of yourself, Charlotte. Not when you are the most sensible, wise lady I have the privilege of knowing. Any gentleman would be fortunate to have you for his wife.”

  “If he got past my lack of fortune, connections, and youth.”

  “Superficial matters of no consequence.” Elizabeth dismissed the lot with a wave of her hand. “Or need I remind you of my lack of fortune and connections?”

  “Ah, but that is as far as our similarities go, Lizzy, for you are both young and quite pretty. There is a vivacity about you which will draw gentlemen like flies to honey.”