Carrie Bebris - The Deception At Lyme

To my father and my godmother

I realize, dear reader, that you are anxious to page through all of this front matter and reach the prologue, where the story begins. But it actually begins here. For while it is my name that appears on the cover of this novel, there are a great many individuals who contributed to its creation, and were it not for them, the story you are about to enjoy would not exist in its present form.

I must, as always, first thank my family. In addition to the very patient and understanding husband and children who live with me during the day-to-day writing, I am blessed with an extended family whose support and encouragement also nurture my creative soul. For this novel, I am particularly grateful to my father for accompanying me to England as my research assistant, for taking countless photos and walking countless miles, for helping me see the navy through the eyes of one who served, and for flinching only a little bit on our first day of driving on British roads.

I thank my editor, Kristin Sevick, for her editorial guidance, for her belief in this book, and for all her support that enabled me to write the story as it needed to be told; my agent, Irene Goodman, for her sound advice and humor that keeps everything in perspective; and my publicist, Cassandra Ammerman, for her promotional efforts on behalf of me and the Darcys.

Artist Teresa Fasolino amazes me with her ability to take my novels and capture their essence on canvas. For the painting on the cover of this book, and those of all the Mr. & Mrs. Darcy Mysteries before it, she has my continued admiration and gratitude.

Friends and fellow writers Mary Holmes, Pamela Johnson, Victoria Hinshaw, Anne Klemm, and Sharon Short offered ideas, criticism, and support at critical stages of the books development. I am also grateful to the Sisters of St. Joseph for providing a quiet retreat where I could regain my creative focus and write.

Of the many individuals who answered numerous research questions, I am especially indebted to two people who not only shared their specialized knowledge but also helped me apply it to the unique circumstances of my story: gynecological surgeon and Regency medical expert Dr. Cheryl Kinney, and historical weaponry and military expert Kristopher Shultz. Thanks also to the guides and staff of Portsmouth Historic Dockyards (particularly the HMS Victory), the Royal Marines Museum, National Maritime Museum, and Lyme Regis Museum. Special thanks to Natalie Manifold of Literary Lyme Walking Tours for her private tour of Jane Austen sites with an extended concentration on the Cobb. Closer to home, the reference librarians at Woodbourne Library hunted down all sorts of obscure old books and managed to obtain them for me.

From the day I joined the Jane Austen Society of North America twenty years ago, its members have generously shared their knowledge, enthusiasm, and friendship, and I deeply appreciate the support I have received since I first started writing the Darcy series. I also thank the Jane Austen Centre in Bath and the staff of Jane Austens House Museum in Chawton for their warm reception.

Finally, I thank you, my readers. Your comments, criticism, and enthusiasm have helped shape this series, and are a daily inspiration.

On the southern coast of England, near the town of Lyme Regis, an ancient seawall rises from the water.

Like a great openmouthed serpent, its head reaches into the sea, its jaw acts as a quay, its body curves round to form a harbor, its tail stretches to the shore. Known as the Cobb for reasons lost to time, this man-made barrier more than half a millennium old is but a youthful newcomer to a wild, unstable coast where prehistoric creatures once dwelled.

Were it not for the Cobb, there would be no harbor, and were it not for the harbor, there would be no Lyme, for the rugged shoreline the seawall faces offers no natural protected anchorage. The construction of the wall proved the making of the town, their fates and fortunes entwined. From simple medieval beginnings, the Cobb, the harbor, and the village together evolved into a thriving port worthy of royal notice.

In this haven, ships were built and launched, trading vessels unloaded exotic wares, sailors returning from distant lands found welcome, and visitors invested hope and fortunes in the alleged restorative powers of seabathingall sheltered by a mighty stone guardian from the caprice of the sea and the violence of Mother Nature.

In the summer of 1815, however, even the Cobb could not safeguard Lyme from the tempests of human nature.

Elizabeth Bennet Darcy had yet to glimpse the Cobb as she negotiated one of the steep cobblestone streets that wended through Lymes cliffside dwellings and shops. The close buildings obscured her view of the renowned seawall and harbor some half-mile distant from the town. Yet even had the breakwater been within sight, her gaze coveted a still more remarkable spectacle: the sea itself. In all her three-and-twenty years, she had never before laid eyes upon the sea, and the narrow glimpses she managed to catch between buildings as her small party walked down to the shoreline only whetted her impatience to behold it unobstructed.

At last they reached the end of Broad Street, where a promontory opened up a commanding prospect, and she stopped to absorb the sight. She could see not only the harbor, but also miles beyond. The sun traced its descent toward the horizon, its rays diffused by clouds into muted green and yellow light that slid across the dark water rolling toward the beach.