Mr and Mrs Darcy 02 Suspense & Sensibility

"The author
smoothly combines characters from Pride and Prejudice and Sense and Sensibility
while remaining true to Austen's originals."

-
Publishers Weekly

"No evil is a match tor
the witty and happily married Darcys."

-
Kirkus
Reviews

"A page turner."

-
Republic of Pemberley

PRAISE FOR PRIDE
&
PRESCIENCE

"Thoroughly 'light and
bright and sparkling,' in the best Austen tradition with a dollop of murder and
mayhem to leaven the whole. A delight."

- Stephanie Barron, author of the
Jane Austen Mystery
series

"Well crafted... Bebris
works her own brand of Austen magic, whetting the reader's appetite for a
sequel. Taking a lighter approach than Stephanie Barrens sleuthing Jane Austen
series this one should appeal as much to Regency readers as to Austenites."

- Publishers
Weekly

"Mannered prose, Regency backdrops, moody country houses, and
delightful characterization place this new series high on the to-buy list."
-
Library Journal

"Carrie Bebris pulls off
quite a coup with this novel. She has an acute ear for the language and wit of
Pride
& Prejudice,
along with a real empathy for the characters. She has also
constructed an entertaining and satisfying mystery, producing a novel that is
enormous fun. I look forward to the next installment."

-
Jane Austen's Regency World

Also by Carrie Bebris

Pride and Prescience

Suspense and Sensibility

North by Northanger

NOTE: If you
purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is
stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the
publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment
for this "stripped book."

This is a work of fiction. All
the characters and events portrayed in this book are either products of the
author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

SUSPENSE AND SENSIBILITY

Copyright (c) 2005 by Carrie
Bebris Teaser Copyright (c) 2006 by Carrie Bebris

All rights reserved, including
the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.

A Tor Book

Published by Tom Doherty
Associates, LLC

175 Fifth Avenue

New York, NY 10010

www.tor.com

Tor(r) is a registered trademark
of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.

ISBN 0-765-35092-0

EAN 978-0-765-35092-3

First edition: February 2005

First mass market edition:
March 2006

Printed in the United States of
America

For my sister, Dorothy,

and my grandfather, James Diliberti

Acknowledgments

Many people have contributed to
the creation of this book in ways large and small. I particularly wish to
thank:

My family, as always, for not
only understanding my need to sequester myself away to invent conversations
with imaginary people in faraway times and places, but also for encouraging me
to do so.

Eliza Diliberti, Victoria
Hinshaw, Anne Klemm, and Dorothy Stephenson, for criticism in various stages of
the book's development. James Lowder, for Latin translations and other shared
wisdom. My editor, Brian Thomsen, for his insight and guidance. And Natasha
Panza, his extraordinary assistant, for her adept attention to a thousand
details.

Members of the Beau Monde
chapter of Romance Writers of America, for generously sharing their knowledge
of Regency England. Also, my fellow members of the Jane Austen Society of North
America, for their continued support.

Jane Austen, for creating Harry
Dashwood, Kitty Bennet, and the Darcys. William Shakespeare, for quotes used in
Sir Francis's dialogue.

Finally, my readers, for their
praise, questions, and feedback. And for their wanting, like me, to spend just
a little more time with the Darcys.

"My
good
opinion once lost is lost for ever."

-
Darcy to
Elizabeth,
Pride and Prejudice

O wad some Pow'r the
giftie gie us

To see oursels as
others see us!

- Robert
Burns

Prologue

"There is, I
believe, in every disposition a tendency to some particular evil, a natural
defect, which not even the best education can overcome."

-
Darcy to
Elizabeth,

Pride and Prejudice,
Chapter II

1781

"Damn
this mortal coil."

Sir Francis Dashwood muttered the words under his breath, though he had
no audience. He sat alone in his bedchamber, surrounded by the opulence he'd
enjoyed all his life but experiencing the poverty every man knows when his
years on earth run out. Time was no longer his to command. Once he'd had it in
abundance, spent it as liberally and recklessly as any other commodity in his
possession. Now it was in dreadfully short supply.

Servants had leit a simple meal on the bedside table. The sandwich went
untouched, but the glass of brimstone he drained in two swallows, relishing the
familiar taste of the sulfur-laced brandy.

He stared at his reflection in the ornate gilded mirror across from his
bed, resenting every wrinkle that etched his ruddy face. Where had that faded
hair come from? The liver spots on
his hands? The slight tremble that seized his
fingers? Eyes watery with age stared back.

As a young man, he'd reveled in his vitality. He'd mocked mortality
along with morality, dared death and the devil to catch him if they could. He'd
lived each moment to its fullest, leaving no desire unindulged, no curiosity
unexplored. And he harbored no regrets. If he had his life to live over again,
he would change nothing. It had been a good run.

But it was not enough.

Fiery orange light slanted through the window to stripe the floor.
Sunset might claim the bleak late autumn landscape of West Wycombe Park, but it
would not claim him so easily. No, he would not go quietly into the darkness.
His spirit was too strong to meekly concede the battle his body waged with
time.

He gazed beyond his own image in the glass, to the reflection of the portrait
that hung behind him. That, too, was an image of himself, but at
one-and-twenty. The painter had captured him in the full vigor of youth. Just
as the adventure that had been his life was beginning.

Inside, he was still I hat young man. Yet now he scarcely had the
strength to even rise from his bed.

He twisted the sheets with arthritic hands, cursing his physical weakness,
cursing the corporeal shell that could no longer keep up with him. He cursed
the mirror that bore witness to his frailty. He'd paid handsomely for the
artifact, one of many treasures that he'd acquired in his lifetime. He'd been
drawn to it by the images of ancient Greek champions that adorned its frame,
but now they seemed to taunt him with their puissance. Tonight, he would gladly
trade the mirror - nay, his whole estate - to inhabit once more the body of a
young man, to again take health and strength for granted.

He could not tear his gaze away from the reflections: Two images of the
same man, separated by mere inches but a gulf of more than fifty years. Dawn
and twilight.

He wanted another sunrise.

His vision grew cloudy, as it often did now at the end of the day. The
dual images of himself became less distinct, fading at their edges and drifting
toward each other. He blinked rapidly and rubbed his eyes, trying to stabilize
the view, but in vain. His eyesight, like the rest of his body, was failing
him.

This last failure, however, was welcome, for after another minute, the two
images merged completely. Despair fled, replaced by satisfaction.

Slowly, a smile spread across his face. He was a young man once more.

If only in the mirror.

One

"If any young men come for Mary or Kitty,

send them in, for I am quite at leisure."

- Mr.
Bennet
to Elizabeth,

Pride and Prejudice,
Chapter 59

1813

Elizabeth
Bennet Darcy tried very hard to concentrate on the letter in her hand, but the
intrusion of her own thoughts conspired with the fine prospect outside her
window to distract her.

When the post arrived, she had withdrawn to her favorite sitting room at
Pemberley. Such had become her morning custom in her few months as mistress of
the house. The room, she understood, had also been a favorite of her husband's
mother, and Elizabeth suspected the late Mrs. Darcy had shared her opinion that
it offered a view of the river and valley superior to any other in the house.
Today, though patches of snow stubbornly resisted the caress of the late winter
sun, the smell of damp earth nevertheless carried the promise of spring.