Meet Your Mark E-book

In a world where one may choose a soul mark on their thirteenth birthday, Elizabeth Bennet chooses to be marked. That does not mean her soulmate is happy about it.

Fitzwilliam Darcy is certain he knows better than Fate. Until his life turns upside down and he meets an impertinent lady in Hertfordshire.

With Fate in charge, who knows what will happen?

Prologue

It is a truth universally acknowledged that pride never serves one so ill as in matters of the heart. This fact was so well established in England that for centuries, pride was removed entirely from the choosing of one’s spouse.
There had long been a tradition of having one’s partner in life chosen for one—not by parents or well-meaning relatives, but by Fate herself. It was a remarkably simple process. When a person reached their thirteenth year—an age of supposed reason and responsibility—said person would wear their best clothes and be taken to church by their parents where they would undergo a simple ceremony. The vicar—or priest or rabbi or some other holy vessel—would congratulate the child on surviving his or her tender years, bless the child with a few words and gestures, and if desired, beseech the heavens for a mark. A mark that would appear on their person, often on the arms or shoulders, gradually over the next months. At the same time, an identical mark would be etched upon their soul’s true mate.
Marks varied greatly in style and coloration. Lady Alton famously had a beautiful purple iris on the back side of her right shoulder. It was so intricate it took an entire year for it to be completed on her skin. Etched delicately along one of the petals was the name ‘John Anthony.’ She had several gowns specially made to show off the elegant mark and was the envy of more than one lady with less eye-catching embellishments.
Luckily, Sir John Anthony Alton had a matching flower on his right thigh—an usual place for a mark, to be sure—though the size of the flower and the fact that purple looked dreadful with his complexion made him grateful it was in such a discreet location. His lady’s name was written in a delicate script along the largest petal, just as his name was on hers.
He also happened to possess an estate with a fabulous garden, famous for its irises. The couple were ridiculously happy together, and their gardens—and their elegant marks—were the envy of many.
Others were not so lucky.
Miranda Whitney had an anchor on her left bicep, a large chain snaking around it and the initials ‘JF’ conspicuously placed alongside the shaft. She was so embarrassed by the crude drawing and the dull grey color that she wore longer sleeves all year round, even on hot summer days and long after short sleeves had come into fashion. Her particular mark was popular with sailors of all sorts, and the initials ‘JF’ were entirely too common. Her mother energetically pursued Mr. John Franklin, Sir Jerome Frederick, Mr. Josiah Farnsworth, and to Miranda’s great embarrassment, a vicar named Jedidiah Fockney.
She had all but given up on meeting her mate when she was five and twenty and accompanied her cousin to Lyme where she met Jeffrey Fuller, a naval captain destined for success and equally relieved to have met his elusive ‘MW’ after years of searching for her.
Thus the tradition continued, with lords and laborers alike receiving their blessings at the tender age of thirteen and watching in anxious anticipation as their marks took shape on their persons. That is until 1742 when Lord Banning, the fourth earl of his line, matched with the daughter of one of his tenants.
It was thought to be a unique situation and while disconcerting, not enough so to change a habit of centuries. But then one of the king’s cousins matched with a knight in his majesty’s service, creating a great scandal. Though it should be said that neither gentleman objected to the pairing per se, they only wished it had been less public in nature. This was followed in 1750 by the Marquis of Tarkington matching to a maid at a neighboring estate—an Irish maid at that—and after this third and devastating strike, the nobility lost their faith in soul marks. Clearly Fate was toying with them, and they were too proud to be played with like mice at the mercy of a cat. They would steer their own ships, master their own destinies, and choose their own wives.