Miss Smith made herself comfortable. “The voyage will be some hours. Would you tell me more about the innkeeper that you offer me?”
Her practicality reminded Elizabeth of Charlotte, and she felt a pang of sorrow that she did not know when she might see her friend. “I would also like to know more. You have the floor, MrDarcy.”
He raised a sardonic eyebrow. “Quite literally, it seems.”
MrDarcy was capable of teasing! Elizabeth laughed, and Miss Smith smiled.
“MrLucas Hunt is the son of a longstanding tenant at Pemberley but had no desire to be a farmer. He noticed that the Lambton Inn fills up quickly, and that there is a long distance between Lambton and the nearest wayhouse. He approached me to ask for a loan to build another place for horses to be rested, before a final push to Lambton.”
Miss Smith nodded thoughtfully. “Not a true inn, then, but stables aplenty and enough of a kitchen to feed and water travellers as well as their steeds.”
Perhaps she had worked at an inn before, to know the difference. MrDarcy inclined his head. “If it proves successful, I have told him I would support a farrier in building a shop nearby, and perhaps some housing as the business grows. MrHunt shows a great deal of promise.”
Elizabeth shifted where she sat. “My aunt Gardiner grew up in Lambton. She said that the blacksmith and farrier there had large families. I doubt that there will be much trouble in findingyoung workers willing to set themselves up, as long as the wayhouse has enough custom to support them.”
Miss Smith rested a hand on her belly, only just noticeable in its roundness. “It has been my experience that if carriages can stop and allow the occupants to stretch their legs rather than complaining at the driver, they will.”
A month flew by, between the hasty report of MrWickham’s crimes and a highly publicised trial, the necessary arrangements of upholding MrDarcy’s promise to the Smiths, and Elizabeth’s family fussing over her. Even Kitty and Lydia seemed to have grown in some prudence, having heard of the ordeal, which Elizabeth treated as a blessing. With Wickham in prison awaiting his sentencing, and MrsHunt, the former Miss Smith, in her new home, Elizabeth escaped her mother’s fluttering by taking refuge in Uncle Gardiner’s library.
Elizabeth had not seen her betrothed in that time, as he had been travelling between Derbyshire, Kent, Hertfordshire, and London. Managing Mama’s enthusiasm was akin to the Labours of Hercules, and so the time had flown by with scant intercourse between the two.
MrDarcy had purchased a common licence, as Mama was willing to compromise on a great deal if it meant her daughters married from Longbourn Chapel. Elizabeth spoke to Jane about what MrDarcy had revealed, which gave Jane the courage to express her feelings when MrBingley returned to Netherfield.
Bingley and Jane had also chosen to wed by common licence, and Jane was happy to share her wedding day with her dearest sister.
Their wedding clothes had been ordered from London, and they had travelled to Town for the final fittings. Almost as quickly, they were on their way back to Longbourn, where Jane and Elizabeth would spend their last night in their childhood home before their wedding.
Elizabeth was excited about marrying on the morrow, truly she was. Or as much as any woman could be excited about marrying a generous man who was good in a crisis, but whom she knew little of. Perhaps excited was the wrong word.Content.
And Elizabeth wassatisfiedwith the arrangements. Her mama was sure to fuss, but because she enjoyed it!
Seated in the carriage with her aunt, uncle, and Jane, Elizabeth drew a book into her lap and examined the title:Lessons from a Dreamby Louise Bigler. How bold, for a woman to publish openly, under her own name!
Perhaps tomorrow night, she and her new husband might read it aloud to one another. Elizabeth was desperate for distraction from what else might happen on her wedding night, and she eased into the comfortable squabs of her uncle’s coach. Looking at her sister, who had already fallen asleep, she opened the book:It is a truth universally acknowledged that a dream can force a change in perspective.
Chapter 9: Lessons from a Dream
by Louise Bigler
Hunsford, Kent
Monday, the 9thof March, 1812
Elizabeth awoke disoriented in her bedchamber at Hunsford.Why am I here again?
How is this possible?
She heard Sir William’s laughter somewhere in the house and wondered if he had come back. Still clumsy from sleep, she managed to knock the pitcher and the basin together. The noise was loud, but luckily nothing chipped. However, the noise was clearly audible in the next room; a moment later, Maria came bursting in, chatting animatedly about how wonderful dinner at Rosings had been. It was almost as if she were talking about their first dinner at Rosings again.
As Maria teased her for being quite dull that morning, Elizabeth turned to the wardrobe. A sudden dizziness overcame her, and Elizabeth hastily sat. Her senses dulled as she became fully absorbed in memories.
There, in the closet, was her favourite gown—without a rip, without a pull, without a stain. And it was as if that horrifying trip aboard the Smiths’ vessel had never taken place. Could it have been a dream? It had felt so real. Why on earth would she dream about being kidnapped with MrDarcy of all people, and in the middle of a proposal of marriage? Even if she did, why would she dream that he would take such care of her, show such strength, such kindness? What of everything they had confided in each other? Wickham’s betrayal: How could she invent such a tale? Yet upon reviewing her conversations with MrWickham in Meryton, she could not shake from her thoughtsthe contradictions she had overlooked between his words and actions. The many other proofs of MrWickham’s perfidy. Had the dream been but a contrivance of her own imagination, meant to soften the harsh realisation that she had been an utter fool to believe MrWickham?
Elizabeth was unsure what was happening, but she could not quite bring herself to put on that gown. Maria prattled on, the sound barely penetrating the fog in her brain. Could there have been something in the meal the preceding evening? Some exotic ingredient that might have caused such strange dreams?
Maria looked at her strangely. “Truly, you do not look well.”
A weary sigh escaped before Elizabeth could snatch it back. Knowing she was in no state to face a combination of her cousin and Sir William, Elizabeth forced herself to speak. “In truth, I did not sleep well. I would not disturb Charlotte, but perhaps you might bring me some tea and toast?”
