Page 5 of Bella Darcy is on the Run

Bella's shoulders slumped. "Yes, Mama. I will."

"And do try to attend in spirit as well as body."

Bella gave her a rueful look. "I know."

Her mother smiled and rose from the window seat, smoothing her skirts. "Good. I shall tell him you will come."

✽✽✽

Bella stood outside the door to her father's study, trying to gather the courage to knock and have the conversation she knew she must. She had rehearsed what she wished to say in her head several times, but now that she stood there, the words felt hollow. She also knew that her coming actions would disappoint and sadden him, and the guilt made her stomach twist at the thought.

She took a deep breath and raised her hand to knock, but before she could bring her knuckles to the wood, the door swung open. "Papa," she said, startled as he nearly walked straight into her.

"Arabella, sweetheart." His hands came gently to the tops of her arms and he drew her into the room. "I was going to… and well, here you are. Sit, sit. I will call for some tea."

He guided her to one of the chairs reserved for visitors, placed across from the master's seat at the broad mahogany desk.

"I do not need tea, Papa."

"Well, indulge your old father, for I find myself quite parched." He laughed nervously and pulled the bell cord. Rather than taking the seat opposite her at the desk, he folded his tall frame into the chair beside her and took both her hands in his.

"I am so very sorry, sweetheart. My behaviour this morning was reprehensible. Something your dear mama has explained to me in minute detail. I believe she called me Fitzwilliam three times, something she only ever does when she is cross."

The butler, Johnson, came into the room and nodded somberly. "Master."

"Johnson, yes," her father said distractedly. "Will you arrange for the kitchen to send a tea tray?"

"Of course, sir." Johnson disappeared as silently as he had arrived.

"Where was I?" her father said, squeezing her hands in his. "Yes. I apologise unreservedly. I can only say that I want to ensure you are safe and secure, and that the estate is the same. By teaching you, I hope to protect you. My intention is not to clip your wings or make you feel that your whole life has been decided for you."

But it has, she thought, and another stab of guilt twisted inside her.

"I know you only want the best for me, Papa. And I am sorry too. I have not been fair to you. I know how much Pemberley matters and why you want me to understand it. I only wish there were some way for me to discover what else might matter to me before it becomes the whole of my life."

Her father's expression softened. "There is, sweetheart. We shall find a way. I love you, Bella, so very much."

Bella nodded and squeezed his hands in return. "I love you too, Papa, and know you will try."

That, at least, was true. He would always try to make her happy. But she feared he did not truly understand what it was she needed. How could he, when she was so uncertain herself? She only hoped her dear papa would forgive her for what she planned to do next.

Chapter Four

Bella Darcy made her escape at two in the morning. She packed a small valise containing two day dresses, undergarments, a nightdress and a hairbrush. She tucked her leftover pin money, for she rarely spent much of her generous allowance, into her stays and pulled the hangings around her bed shut. The longer she had before her flight was discovered, the better. She spent the hours prior to leaving agonising over a note to explain her absence, but everything she wrote seemed trite or cruel or simply inadequate. She nearly gave up on the plan then and there. She could undress, climb into bed and no one would be any the wiser. In the end, she simply scratched I am safe on a page in her commonplace book and ripped it out, folding it carefully and placing it under her pillow.

With a final look around her room, she slipped out of the door and down the hall in stockinged feet. She knew exactly the route she would take. Pemberley was vast, but she had spent her childhood roaming its halls and knew every squeaky floorboard and every little-used passageway. There was a side door in the east wing that was secured only by a bolt and was far enough away from both the servants’ and family quarters that she could pass undetected. She reached it quickly. She shoved her feet into her sturdiest half-boots and wrapped her dark blue wool pelisse tightly around her. It was June, and the garment was probably too warm for the mild weather they had been enjoying, but she had a journey of many days ahead of her and wished to be prepared. On her head she wore a wide-brimmed bonnet that made it difficult to see her face unless someone was looking directly at her. She hoped it would help her pass out of the local area with some degree of anonymity.

Her mind had jumped from adventure to escape so rapidly that when she finally stood outside in the cool night air, the full moon bright above her, she had another moment of panic. This was madness. She was leaving behind the care and protection of a loving family, for what? A whim that she deserved a great adventure because she had read too much Walter Scott? It was irresponsible and completely irrational. Her father would have an apoplexy. Her mother would be disappointed. Mina would likely sob for days. Even steady, logical Kate would be discomposed. But still, beneath the guilt, was the most wonderfully delicious flicker of excitement. After all, she was not running away forever. She was simply taking a trip to see a relative, if all went to plan. Her family might not know about this trip at this very moment, and they would be upset about her travelling alone, but the dust would settle. And if everything went as it should, she would not be on her own for so very long.

Yes, she had come this far and she would not turn back now. The most difficult part of the whole plan was retrieving her horse, Tempest. The head groom, Big John, and his appropriately named son, Little John, lived in rooms above the stables and she would have to ensure she did not disturb them or her adventure would be curtailed before it had begun. She had heard her father say that Big John was in Derby to inspect a stallion and would not return until later that morning. Little John was fifteen and prone to distraction, and she hoped she would have a much better chance of leaving unobserved without his steady and responsible father in residence.

She entered the stables gingerly and let go of a shaky breath when none of the horses paid her much mind. She loved to ride and was not an unusual presence in and around their stalls. Tempest, her mare, stood with her head laid over the edge of the stable door, observing Bella with dark, solemn eyes. She seemed to sense that this was no ordinary visit, and when Bella slipped into her stall, laying the saddle across her mottled grey coat, she made no complaint. It was a man’s saddle. Although Bella could ride side-saddle, she preferred the freedom and control of riding astride. Her father had no objection to any of his girls riding freely in this fashion within the estate grounds, and her mother had commissioned riding habits with split skirts for each of them when they were still young. Bella wore a dark green version of this design now, the wide trousers disguised within the folds of a wraparound skirt that could be pinned back while riding. It took her only minutes to prepare Tempest and secure her valise, and before she knew it, she was swinging up into the saddle and trotting slowly away from the stables along a lane that continued to the very edge of the estate.

It was a clear night and moonlight illuminated the path before her. It felt very odd to be outside riding in full darkness, but the world seemed to lie peacefully around her, and she soon settled into the rhythm of Tempest’s graceful movement, enjoying the occasional sweep of a bat as they moved through the trees that lined the path. Her goal was an inn at Ashbourne, some twenty miles away from Pemberley, where they had stayed years before when their carriage had broken an axle as they journeyed to Hertfordshire. She remembered it being clean and pleasant, with a genteel sort of clientele. From there she would hire a maid and a post-chaise, and the real adventure would begin.

She tried not to think of her parents’ reaction when they discovered her empty bed and the pain that her note and absence would cause. Why could she not have found better words? Something that would make them understand, something that would cause them not to worry? She swiped at the tears that leapt unbidden to her eyes. She could not, would not think of that now. She must look forward. She had a significant journey to undertake, and to undertake it as a woman travelling alone was treacherous. She was not foolish enough to think she could simply skip around the country unmolested. This meant she must focus all her attention on reaching her destination safely.

The sun was rising as she reached the outskirts of Ashbourne, where small cottages were dotted at intervals along the dirt road. The buildings became more cramped as fields and hedgerows gave way to brick and stone houses, with the occasional shuttered shop and narrow passageway punctuating the streets. Smoke curled from the chimneys. The town was beginning to awaken.