Lydia stepped off the public coach in front of Summerseat's coaching station and drew a deep breath. So many people had been crammed into the coach! She surely had not breathed since their last stop. What a horrid way to travel. Certainly not the way she had expected to be journeying. Mr. Darcy might have provided his private coach to transport her. He was rich enough for that.

How grumpy he had been and how high handed Lizzy with all her fussy warnings. What did either of them know about anything? Why did they have to intrude on her life and simply ruin it?

Them and nosy Aunt Gardiner with all her intrusive and personal questions. She shuddered. Even Mama would never ask such questions! What did Aunt Gardiner need to know about her courses or what had happened between her and Wickham in the privacy of their room?

Why had they made her leave anyway? Papa said he was moving the family back to London. So Lady Catherine's opinion hardly counted for anything, now.

She dodged away from a huffy older woman who had been crowding her the entire journey. The woman snorted and glared down her nose as she passed. Stuffy old crosspatch.

Papa had a new patron now, the Earl of Matlock. How wonderful to rub shoulders with an earl! And earl with unmarried sons was even better. But now, because of Mr. Darcy, she would never meet any of them. Papa declared he was not going to take any chances with an unruly daughter jeopardizing his new position. Oh, this was so unfair!

She wove through the stale-smelling crowd, elbowing several young men out of her way. On tip toes, she scanned the crowd. No one looked familiar and no one seemed to be looking for her. Why did they make her travel alone? Mr. Darcy should have sent a companion with her—Mama would be appalled that she traveled without one. But Papa would not pay for a maid to travel with her and now she was alone. Why did Mr. Darcy not pay for that? He should have insured ensured a companion.

Running away had seemed like a good idea at the first stop but it would have meant leaving her trunks behind. After having done that when she ran off with Wickham, she was convinced it was a bad idea.

She sank down on a rickety looking bench. It was all so cruel! Everything she had every had or known was lost to her—Wickham, her home, her friends, her sisters—and it was all Lizzy's and Darcy's fault. She might be living with them instead of heading off to this remote corner of the kingdom—by herself.

Oh, this was so very, very vexing! Someone was supposed to meet her here and take her to the school—where were they? Oh, there was the coach driver! Perhaps he knew.

She jumped up and hurried back to the coach where the driver and another man untied the ropes that held the trunks to the coach.

"Sir, excuse me, can you—"

"Out of the way girl." He grunted and shouldered her out of his path.

"But I need—"

"What you need is not my concern." He heaved the trunk to his shoulder.

How rude! He stank like a farmhand. Perhaps the other—

"You're gonna get hurt, girl. Outta the way." He trudged past, arms laden with luggage.

Oh! How could they ignore a lady like that? Did they not know that she was a gentlewoman?

She looked around. No one noticed her, no one cared. Her hands trembled and her insides knotted beneath a welling scream.

"Miss Bennet?"

She whirled so fast the world spun.

A girl slightly older than herself in a plain, drab gown stood at her shoulder.

"Yes…that is me." Lydia panted, hoping to force the world to stop moving.

"I am Miss Annabella Fitzgilbert from Mrs. Drummond's school. There is a chaise waiting outside to take us to the school."

"Oh good." At last! "What took you so long? I have been waiting simply for ages now. You should have been on time. I will tell your mistress."

The girl shook her head and smiled the same sort of smile Jane used to give her—lips pressed tight into a firm line. She was not nearly as pretty as Jane though—quite a plain thing really. And she had freckles on her nose.

"My trunks. I do not know where they are. See to them." Lydia waved her hand toward the coach and scanned the street for a handsome chaise and driver to carry her away from this nightmare.

"My name is Miss Fitzgilbert, not Abigail. I am neither your maid nor any servant at all. If you wish your trunks, you best see to them yourself."

Lydia stomped. "You cannot talk to me like that."

"I can and I did and I suggest you become accustomed to it soon as you will find whomever you think you are matters very little here."

"But—"

Miss High-and-Mighty lifted an open hand. "Stop it. I do not wish to hear. I do not care. Now attend to your trunks before they are stolen." She pointed toward the trunks piled near the public coach.

Lydia swished her skirts and hurried to the pile of luggage. She tugged her three trunks into an awkward stack.

"Is that everything?" Miss Fitzgilbert crossed her arms and tapped her foot.

"Oh, I left my bag on the coach."

She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Well, you best hope you can find it. I shall watch your luggage. Go, now. Quickly!"

Lydia scurried back to the coach. Oh, Miss Fitzgilbert was horrible. Who was she? What if she were one of the school mistresses? Oh, that would be dreadful indeed. What kind of place was this school? It must be awful.

There it was—tucked under the seat she had sat in. She snatched her bag and jumped down almost atop Miss Fitzgilbert.

"Hurry along now. Our driver has your things loaded. We must not keep him waiting." She grabbed Lydia's elbow and propelled her through the crowd.

She pulled her arm away. "Why does it matter? He must wait—"

"He does not work for Mrs. Drummond—this is a hack, you ninny." Miss Fitzgilbert stomped away.

What had that to do with anything? Would the chaise leave without her? Lydia ran to it.

The hack was dusty and plain and obviously worn, just like the driver. He grunted at them as Miss Fitzgilbert pushed her into a seat and climbed in after her. The chaise lurched into motion.

Soon the coaching inn was out of sight, replaced by the drab, dreary buildings of Summerseat. This place was nothing to London. Did it even have assembly rooms? How could she live without regular balls and parties?

She fell into the hard seat back. "Is it far…to the school, I mean?"

"Not very, the house is on the edge of town. We would walk except for the trunks, of course."

"Of course," Lydia murmured. Who did this girl think she was?

"You are arriving from London, but are recently from Kent, I understand." The freckles on her nose twitched when she smiled that Jane-ish smile.

Jane had sense enough not to have a freckled nose.

"Yes, my father—"

Miss Fitzgilbert turned her face away. "Do not tell me about him. Mrs. Drummond requires that we do not speak of our previous stations."

"Why ever not? That must be the stupidest thing I have ever heard."

How dare she roll her eyes! If they had not been in a moving coach, Lydia would have stormed away.

"You know why you have been sent here, do you not?"

"Because my sister is high handed and her husband very cruel indeed."

"And your loss of virtue and reputation is all their fault, I imagine?"

Lydia's cheeks heated. What did she know of that? What would she understand of such things? "Indeed it is. I would be married now apart from their interference."

Who knew that such an unladylike snort could explode from such a prim little thing?

"If you are as other girls here, you should count your good fortune not to be married right now. He was probably a scoundrel—a blackguard of the worst sort."

"How would you know?"

"You think yourself unique? Let me assure you, you are not. Every one of us shares a similar tale of virtue lost and not one of the men in question has been worthy of the moniker 'gentleman'."

"You do not know—"

"I do not need to. Every girl who comes to this school has virtually the same story. Any man who would put you in position to be sent here, is no gentlemen."

Lydia tossed her head and sniffed. "Well, you are simply wrong. I am not like any of the others."

"I have heard that too." Miss Fitzgilbert squeezed her temples. Now she was looking like Lizzy. "Some of us have come to appreciate our own folly and are grateful for the intervention of Mrs. Drummond, that our future is much preserved by our attendance here."

And sounding like her as well.

"And there are those who do not. I think you might be that sort. Have it as you will. But those of us she has helped have little patience with those too good to come to their senses and recognize their good fortune."

What a dreadful sort of superiority she displayed, one Lydia could easily do without.

The carriage pulled up a long drive to a large old house set off the road. The sign in front read: Summerseat Abbey and in smaller letters Girl's Seminary.

Covered in dark vines, the building might have been cheerful in the spring when everything was green and blooming. But with autumn's approach, everything was drying brown and crunchy. Messy looking and imposing. Who would want to go into such a grumpy sort of building? Was everyone there as disagreeable as the edifice? If Miss Fitzgilbert was any indication, they were.

When might she go home?

Miss Fitzgilbert jumped down from the chaise, smiling as though this were the most wonderful place she knew. Proof indeed she was a fool.

Lydia stepped down lest the bossy girl pull her out by force.

"Do not dawdle! Miss Drummond waits for you." She beckoned forcefully and led Lydia inside.

The foyer was unremarkable and she passed through it all too quickly to note anything before they arrived at a closed oak door upon which Miss Fitzgilbert knocked thrice.

"You may enter." The voice was old—not old and frail, but old and bossy like Lady Catherine's had been. Lydia shivered.

The room was polished and tidy and so proper it might cry out in pain if one breathed wrong. Dreadful place. The woman behind the desk matched the room, starched and stiff. The curls peaking beneath her mob cap might have been lacquered in place and her tiny eyes flashed like jet beads. Was there anyone more formed by nature to be a harsh school mistress?

"Miss Lydia Bennet?"

"Yes, madam," she curtsied, knees quaking. Compared to this harridan, Aunt Gardiner was positively gracious.

"You may sit." She pointed at a hard chair. "Miss Fitzgilbert, please see her things are taken to Miss Morley's room."

"Yes, madam." She curtsied and left, closing the door behind her. If only Lydia had such good fortune, too.

The room was so quiet. Was it possible to hear someone blink?

Mrs. Drummond blinked very loudly. "I suppose you think you have been sent to me because your benefactors wish to spoil your fun and care little for you."

Why did it sound so awful when she said it? Lydia stammered sounds that refused to shape into words.

"I thought as much." She drummed her fingers along her brightly polished desk. Not a paper out of place, nor bit of dust marring the surface. "So we may add ungrateful to your list of sins."

"My…my ...list of what?" Lydia's eyes grew wide.

"I cannot say I am surprised at all. It does seem to be the way of young people now to be utterly insensible to their blessings." She pushed her glassed up higher on her nose.

"My blessings?" What did she know?

"You are sitting there, feeling sorry for yourself because you are away from home, family and friends, and I suppose your paramour as well."

"I…I…I suppose." She made it sound as bad as Miss Fitzgilbert had. What was so wrong with missing the things and people she wanted?

"Have you forgotten your father has cast you out? You have no home."

"That is not true." She slammed her hands on the arms of her chair.

"I am afraid it is. You can see it in his own hand. We are not to send you back to him if you violate our rules."

"But…but..."

Mrs. Drummond shoved a piece of paper at her. Lined with Papa's thin spidery letters, it stated he would not pay for travel expenses and his door would be locked to her. "He cannot mean that!"

"I cannot judge what he does or does not mean. I can only read what he has written."

Lydia's face grew cold. "I am his daughter. He cannot turn me out."

"Again, Miss Bennet, I can only follow the instructions I am sent."

He had allowed Lizzy to be taken away without so much as a word of protest. But Lizzy was so…so…entirely different from her. It could not be the same.

"But my sisters, they surely will not abandon me. Jane and Mary are to be married…"

"It will be their husbands who decide if you are received in their homes or not. Do you believe—"

"Jane will, surely she will." She clutched the unyielding wood of the chair, heart racing. She had heard Mr. Bingley was willing to take Lizzy into his home. Surely he would take her, would he not?

"Perhaps that is true, but unless you have means to travel to her yourself, this is where you shall stay until you are sent for."

"No, that cannot be. There must be some way for me to leave if…if…"

"You may see your benefactor's letter to me."

"Stop calling him that! It is his fault—"

"That you are not married?"

"Yes, exactly. I should be mistress of my own home right now, not here in some horrid school for girls."

"Then you are free to go." Mrs. Drummond gestured to the door, her voice as calm and level as it had been when Lydia first walked in.

Cruel woman, she had no feelings!

"But you just told me I have no where to go."

"That is neither my fault nor my problem."

"I have no money."

"Similarly, not my concern."

"But Mr. Darcy paid you—"

"To take you as a student. If you leave my establishment now, I will return that money to him. In any case, that sum is not yours nor has it ever been." She met Lydia's gaze with a steely glare not entirely unlike the one Lady Catherine often employed.

Lydia rose and paced around the room. Even Rosings Park with all the stuffiness and Lady Catherine's rules of etiquette had been better than—

"So, Miss Bennet, will you be staying?"

She wrapped her arms tightly around her waist. "I have no choice."

"Yes you do—you always have a choice. Perhaps you do not prefer the alternatives, but you are making a choice."

Lydia harrumphed. "I will stay—for now."

"Do not make the mistake of thinking your presence is any boon to me, it is not. In fact, it is to my advantage that you do leave after tomorrow. My agreement reads that no moneys will be returned after the first night in my care. I have sufficient applications for positions with me that it would not be a week before I would have another girl in your place. So feel free to go, I will have no harm from it. Your family knows what a difficult, disagreeable child you are and it will be no reflection on my school. Realize, though, no one from the school will go after you, if you run away. I will, of course, send a letter to your father and benefactor and they may mount efforts for your recovery, if they so choose. But you will not be permitted within these walls again."

"I cannot believe—"

"That is what happened to the girl whose place you are taking."

"No, surely, you –"

"Yes, and as she was the daughter of a viscount."

Lydia clutched the back of the nearest chair.

"If you mean to stay, sit down. Otherwise, you know the way out."

Knees trembling, Lydia perched on the hard chair. This woman was utterly insensible of her plight.

"You have made a wise choice, Miss Bennet. The first in what I hope will be a long series of wise choices. Now, let me acquaint you with our ways here."

Lydia gulped.

"All of your fellow students are like you, gently bred females who do not deserve the title of lady. Every one of you has given her virtue and her good reputation away. In that, you are all equals. You are also blessed with someone who cares enough to try and restore you to some level of decency and thereby offer you a future you do not deserve."

"But…but I am—"

"I do not care, Miss Bennet. No one here does. Most of the girls here come from positions much higher than yours. Your standing in society is utterly meaningless to anyone here. By your actions, you treated it as meaningless, so we shall do likewise."

"My actions?"

"Need I remind you?"

If only she had been allowed to marry! She would be the guest of honor at balls and parties and would be serving tea in her own parlor right now. Some day she would pay Mr. Darcy back for what he had done to her.

"Our first rule is that students neither refer to their rank nor their family's status. Special privilege here exists to those who earn it. You will be treated as you deserve—not as you believe you deserve. Do I make myself clear?"

"Y…yes madam."

"I do not enforce many rules with my cane, Miss Bennet, but this one I do and the peer and gentlewomen shall partake of it alike. I offer no warnings, no second chances on this point. If you are in violation of this directive, you will be punished."

"But I have never—"

Mrs. Drummond flashed a brief, strained smile that might have cracked her face had she held it any longer. "Shame that, it might have kept you from your current dilemma. Nonetheless, you will be treated no differently from the others. You will not be the only girl who received her first licks of the cane by my hand."

Lydia blinked rapidly, eyes burning. What a horrid woman.

"Do not look so distressed, Miss Bennet. It is entirely under your control. If you do not wish to be caned, you merely need obey the rule."

"Yes, madam."

"Now for the rest, while we intend to provide you with the necessary accomplishments for a young lady, we also, due to your circumstances, find it necessary to add additional components to your education. As it is quite possible you will fail to improve, we wish to ensure you are familiar with the skills and options that will be open to you."

"Options?"

"A life of service, and possibly poverty—but hopefully not crime."

She considered those options? "What are you saying?"

"Every morning, you shall rise and see your room properly tended to. Then you shall report downstairs. We keep only a minimal staff, so you shall be assigned to one of them to assist in her chores."

"I am to be a maid?"

"Perhaps when you leave here, you will. I do not know. Regardless, you should have the skills, either to use for gainful employment or to understand the running of a household in preparation for managing your own."

Daft—that was the only possible explanation for this conversation. Mrs. Drummond was daft.

"I have not—that is I do not know—"

"I expected as much. My staff has trained many ignorant girls. Following chores you will report for breakfast, then lessons. Reading, writing and drawing are taught on Monday and Wednesday. Arithmetic, geography and French on Tuesdays and Fridays. Thursday brings the music master and on Saturdays the dance master comes. I expect diligent application to your work. You might not be a scholar, but all my girls can and will work hard."

Lydia squeaked.

"After a brief respite for luncheon, we will engage in our charitable efforts."

"Charitable efforts?"

"On Mondays, we visit the foundling home. Tuesdays, we bring succor to the women in gaol. Thursdays, we bring lessons to the children of the work house, and Fridays, we visit the parish alms houses to assist the unfortunates living there. Wednesdays and Saturdays, we sew and mend garments for those in need as well as anything that needs mending in the house."

"Is there no free time?" No balls or parties or morning calls?

"Since you have made very poor choices during idle time, Miss Bennet, I see little need for it. Still half a day Sunday, after holy services, will be allowed for rest."

What kind of a place had she been condemned to?

"Do you still wish to stay? You may leave at any time; just remember, my door will not be open to you again." Mrs. Drummond gestured toward the door, the same uninterested expression on her weathered face.

"I…I will stay."

She rose, but barely stood as high as Lydia's shoulder. It was probably a good thing, for had she been any taller, she would have been unbearable.

"Follow me then, I will show you to your room. You will share Miss Morely's room. She will become your elder sister here and help you settle in."

Their shoes clattered on the hard wooden steps, clean, but scuffed by many footsteps. The banister was worn smooth by many hands. Were they all as shaky and miserable as hers?

A sister sounded nice, one like Jane who would be sympathetic and help her, maybe even protect her from the cruelty of Mrs. Drummond. Oh, please let Miss Morley be like Jane!