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WHEN MR. BENNET REALIZED it was Shar Lucas pounding on the front door of their rustic Longbourn Manor in the early hours of the evening, his nose was creased by a prominent sneer. Their stable boy had no regard for propriety, rank, or even gender roles. The fact that he worked in the stables was borderline preposterous, and he was only offered the job because he was Elisander's penniless friend. Tending horses was usually a woman's role, but Shar had a way with steeds. Elisander's begging and Shar's skills eventually convinced Mrs. Bennet to hire him.
However, Mr. Bennet was less impressed by the rogue, whose poor manners weren't appropriate for a man or a servant.
“Shar...” Mr. Bennet heaved a sigh as he studied the stable boy's grinning face. Shar always wore a grin, and it always hinted at mischief, as if impertinence was his permanent state of being. “How many times have I told you, Shar? You must use the servant's entrance.”
“Must I?” Shar asked, raising an eyebrow. “But I find this door to be infinitely more convenient.”
“Shar...” Mr. Bennet repeated the stable boy's name in the most admonishing manner he could muster. “I know you're a bit of a rebel, and I know I cannot dismiss you for your behavior. Elisander and my wife wouldn't allow it. However, there are some rules even you must obey. I'm afraid I must insist that you use the servant's entrance next time!” Mr. Bennet smoothed a hand over his stomach, which was barely contained in his tight-fitting waistcoat.
“Very well. Next time, I'll use the servant's entrance,” Shar lied. He would, of course, do as he pleased.
“Furthermore, Shar... your attire...” The crease on Mr. Bennet's nose deepened as he gestured toward the stable boy's brown coat and hat. It was the sort of hat that had recently become popular with cowgirls in the American West. “I can't have you running around like some colonial savage!”
Despite Mr. Bennet's criticism, Shar's grin never faded. “You don't like my clothes?”
“No. You look a bit... wild,” Mr. Bennet finished with a shudder. “What would Miss Li think if she saw my servant dressed like an outlaw?”
Shar raised an eyebrow. “Miss Li?”
“Bin Li. She recently moved into Netherfield, Shar. She's no one you need to concern yourself with.” Mr. Bennet gently pushed the stable boy out of the doorway. “Now, if you would please go around to the servants' entrance...”
Shar refused to budge from the door. He stood his ground and smiled down at the balding Mr. Bennet. Shar was so tall, he towered over nearly everyone. “I'm looking for Elisander. There's something I wanted to show him.”
“You are not proper company for Elisander!” Mr. Bennet declared as he gave the stable boy another light push. But Shar was much taller, broader, and younger than he was. He was a difficult man to move. “He cannot be seen spending time with... with...”
Before his father could think of an appropriate insult, Elisander bounded down the stairs and joined them at the door. “You had something you wanted to show me?” Elisander asked.
Shar gave him a nod. “Aye. There's an airship passing soon, and I thought we could chase it down.” The stable boy flashed a smile at Mr. Bennet, who looked thoroughly disgusted by his presence. “On horseback, of course.”
“No! Absolutely not!” Mr. Bennet adamantly objected. “I cannot have one of my sons galloping around the countryside, chasing after airships! How will that look to others? How will it—” In the middle of his sentence, Elisander slipped through the door and raced to the stables with Shar. “Elisander!” his father called to him. “Elisander, get back here at once! I cannot let you do anything indecent now that Miss Li is here! You'll only embarrass yourself! Elisandeeeerrr!”
Elisander ignored his father's moans and followed his friend to the stables, where two horses had already been saddled. “What sort of airship is it?” Elisander asked.
“A military airship. A Black Heron. First class,” Shar replied as he leapt into a saddle.
Elisander, whose height was average, mounted his stallion a bit less fluidly than his long-legged companion. As he climbed into the saddle, he asked, “Who's the captain? Do you know?”
Shar received his information from reliable sources. “It's a young captain named Darcy Fitzwilliam.”
Elisander frowned at the unfamiliar name. “Who?”
“I don't know. I've never heard of her before. I believe she might be new.” Shar's fingers grazed his guns, which were holstered at his hips. Had Mr. Bennet known he was carrying pistols, he would have surely fainted. Men rarely carried such weapons. “New or not, she must have made quite an impression. They've assigned her to a monster of a ship.”
Shar and Elisander rode their horses away from the Bennets' manor and into the Hertfordshire wilds, through fields of wildflowers and sprawling grasslands. Shar led the way, since he was the only one who knew where the airship would pass. When the ship finally crawled into view, it was impossible to miss. Shar and Elisander were cloaked in the airship's massive shadow as it drifted overhead. Its sails were whipped by heavy winds, and its steam engines hissed as they fought to keep the vessel aloft.
When the airship was directly above him, Elisander cried, “That's huge!”
Shar's shoulders popped into a shrug. He was significantly less impressed than his younger companion. “Ehh... I've seen larger. Private Davies made it sound more amazing than it was.”
“Well, I thought it was amazing!” Elisander exclaimed. “You really weren't impressed?”
“A bit,” Shar sighed. “Perhaps I've been an airship chaser for too long. Now I lack the enthusiasm for it.”
“I think...” Elisander paused, shielding his eyes from the sun as he studied the airship. “Is it heading in the direction of Netherfield?”
“Who knows?” Shar's tone was unapologetically apathetic.
“A young lady is moving into Netherfield Park. A rich young lady. Father was so excited to share the news this morning, he could barely sit still.”
“I know.” Shar turned his horse toward the nearby woodland and motioned for Elisander to follow. “Mr. Bennet already told me.”
“He's become obsessed with it,” Elisander said. “He wants one of us to marry the young woman.”
“Well... good luck,” Shar snorted. “You know how I feel about marriage. I shudder at the idea of it.”
Shar Lucas was eight and twenty, and even though he was the definition of handsome, he was past the age to attract a wife. Furthermore, he was destitute, but even if he was rich and young, he would have refused to leg-shackle himself. Shar enjoyed his freedom far too much.
Elisander followed Shar into the woods, where the latter dismounted his horse, drew his pistol, and practiced shooting. He aimed for a knot on a tree—and he never missed.
“It's a shame that men can't be captains,” Elisander lamented as he watched his friend pull back on the hammer. Shar's demeanor was so relaxed, he made it look effortless. “I don't know anyone who can shoot a gun better than you.”
“Being an airship captain is about more than firing guns, though,” Shar said as he fired again. The stable boy shut his left eye as he aimed. “I wouldn't know the first thing about flying an airship... or firing a cannon, for that matter.”
“Well... you could learn.” Elisander's eyes were filled with awe as he watched his friend. He secretly idolized the rebellious stable boy. “I bet you'd be good at it.”
“Eh.” Shar shrugged indifferently. “Maybe.”
“Do you think you could teach me how to fire a gun?”
Shar chuckled at the thought. “And risk the wrath of your dear, old father? I think not.”
“Come onnn!” Elisander whined. “I've never had a gun in my hand. What does it feel like?”
“It doesn't feel really like anything... until you're aiming at someone's face.” The smirking stable boy briefly pointed the barrel at Elisander's forehead. He didn't want to frighten the lad, so he quickly changed targets and fired at the knotty tree.
“Have you ever shot a person?” Elisander asked.
“Maybe.”
“So does that mean you have?” Elisander sounded shocked. “Did you kill them?”
Shar's smirk grew as he answered again, “Maybe. I would never shoot someone who didn't deserve it, though.”
“If you won't put a gun in my hand, will you teach me how to swing a sword?”
“Any bastard can swing a sword, mate.” Shar cocked his head and fired again. The tree's wood splintered when the bullet struck.
Elisander's eyelashes fluttered at Shar's language. Such vulgar words weren't often uttered by gentlemen of quality. “But... there has to be more to it than that. There has to be a technique or... or a set of skills one could acquire to make them better?”
“Listen...” When Shar turned to Elisander, he was scratching his stubbled chin with the barrel of his gun. “If I teach you how to fire a gun and swing a sword, will you promise me something?”
“Of course.”
“Don't marry some spoiled rich girl because your father tells you to. If you marry at all, do it because you have feelings for the girl, and for no other reason than that,” Shar coached him. “Or better yet... don't marry at all.”