Page 1 of Companions of Their Youth
Prologue
“You are disgusting!”
He gaped in astonishment at the hateful words spewed by the figure across the room. “Wh-what do you mean?” he stammered.
“I mean you repulse me! How dare you?”
He shrank back, hurt and confused. “But I thought—”
“You thought you could profess your love and thenkissme? When have I ever given you any indication that such regard from you would be well-received?”
“We have spent so much time together, and I—”
“Yes, because we have been in the same proximity as one another! By your logic, I would have accepted the attentions ofmanypeople over the years.”
“Please, I just meant-”
“I know what you meant.” The interruption was harsh, angry. “Do not dare to deny it.”
“I would never! I love you. Does that mean nothing to you?”
“It meanslessthan nothing.Nothingwould signify that I feel indifference, but your attempts at an embrace are utterly repugnant.”
“Is there nothing I can do?” he begged in desperation.
“You can leave and not return. I never wish to see you or speak to you again. Do you understand?”
He scrambled backwards towards the door, heart pounding in his chest.How could it have gone so wrong? I was so sure…
“Please,” he begged, “do not tell anyone of this.”
“Of that you can be assured,” came the cold reply. “And I do not do it for your sake, but for my own. I would not wish to be tied to you under any circumstances, and I cannot allow your depravity to taint my reputation.”
“Thank you—”
“GO!”
He ran, fleeing the room as though the jaws of hell itself were chasing him, fighting back tears.
And he did not look back.
Chapter 1
Meryton, 1788
Forty-year-old Thomas Bennet looked disdainfully around the assembly room. He wished, more than anything, that he were back home in his library, a book in one hand and a glass of port in the other. But his valet, Stephens, had been insistent that he attend tonight’s gathering.
“You must show your face, sir,” Stephens had said while selecting his coat. “Neighbors remember those who make an effort, and it is far easier to mend a fence with a friendly neighbor than a grudging one.”
Mr. Bennet knew he was right. As master of Longbourn, a modest estate near the village of Meryton, he could not afford to neglect his standing among the local gentry. A few kind words here and there could smooth many an inconvenience—whether it be negotiating the repair of a shared hedge, arranging a lease, or easing tensions over boundary stones. Still, no amountof rational justification could make him like it. The noise, the chatter, the general press of people were the very things he had built his life to avoid.
He took a sip of his wine, gazing about the assembly room with the detached air of a man waiting out a penance. He was just considering retreating to a quieter corner when a familiar voice hailed him.
“Bennet! Hiding behind a ficus, I see.”
Turning, Mr. Bennet smiled genuinely for the first time that evening. Samuel Gardiner, his long-time friend and solicitor, approached with a glass in hand and a roguish twinkle in his eye.
“You have caught me out,” Mr. Bennet said dryly. “I should have known better than to think a mere potted plant could shield me from the likes of you.”
