Page 2 of Mr Darcy’s Lakeside Romance

The long-suffering housekeeper appeared from the shadows with a glass of water and the requested silver vinaigrette, giving them to her mistress.

Down the hall, the door to Mr Bennet’s study opened. Elizabeth paused, her pelisse still slung over one arm. Her father stepped out, followed by Uncle Edward Gardiner and Mr Philips. The three men surveyed the mayhem around them with identical grim expressions.

Uncle Edward clapped a hand on Mr Bennet’s shoulder, and they exchanged a look of silent understanding. Mr Philips wiped his brow with a linen handkerchief.

“Lizzy! Do not stand there gawking like a simpleton!” Mrs Bennet’s shrill voice shattered Elizabeth’s quiet contemplation. “Fetch your bonnet! Your uncle’s carriage will not wait for dawdlers, and I will not have you missing this trip. Goodness knows you need the change of scenery, what with your stubborn refusal of Mr Collins and all our subsequent miseries!”

Elizabeth bit her tongue and tied the ribbons of her bonnet tightly beneath her chin.

Uncle Edward approached, his usually jovial face softening as he took in the scene. His business in Cheapside had necessitated a drastic reduction in their holiday. The grand tour of the Lake District—a dream Elizabeth had harboured for months—had been unceremoniously truncated. Derbyshire was their new destination, a practical compromise that kept them closer to London should his warehouses require his immediate return.

Elizabeth felt a pang of disappointment, though she expertly buried it under a cheerful disposition. She had longed for the craggy peaks of Windermere, the romantic isolation of the northern waters. Instead, they were to wander the tamer estates of Derbyshire. Lambton was their primary destination, a small town Aunt Madeline remembered fondly from her youth.

“Are you packed, Lizzy?” Uncle Edward checked his pocket watch, sighing at the time. “The coachman is growing restless, and I fear the horses will soon bolt if Harold attempts to feed them another apple.”

“Everything is ready, Uncle.” Elizabeth offered a reassuring smile. “Though I confess, I shall miss the prospect of seeing the Lakes. I had fully prepared myself to become a tragic, poetic wanderer, composing melancholy odes to jagged cliffs and freezing rain.”

Aunt Madeline chuckled, linking her arm through Elizabeth’s. “Derbyshire has its own unique charms, my dear. We shall have to find you a suitably brooding cliff face in the Peak District. Or, at the least, a well-manicured estate with a sufficiently dramatic fountain for you to pine beside.”

“I suppose a fountain will have to suffice.” Elizabeth smiled, though an inexplicable shiver danced across her skin.

The mention of well-manicured estates in Derbyshire invariably dragged one particular insufferable name to the forefront of her mind. Fitzwilliam Darcy. The zenith of arrogance and pride. He was from Derbyshire. Pemberley, his estate was called. Half of the county probably belonged to a man of such overweening pride.

She shook her head, as if physically dislodging his scowling countenance from her imagination. The chances of encountering him were blissfully small. Derbyshire was a county, and a man of his consequence would likely be in London, or perhaps stalking the halls of some friend’s grand estate, practising his sneer in a gilded mirror.

Jane shepherded the twins out the front door, each boy clutching his wooden sword with white-knuckled determination. “I shall take good care of them, Uncle Edward. Have no fear.” Jane’s voice was steady, a soothing balm against the shrieks still echoing from the upper floors where Lydia and Kitty continued their mutual destruction.

“You are an angel, Jane.” Aunt Madeline embraced her eldest niece tightly. “Do not let them run wild. If they attempt to construct a catapult in the dining room again, you have my permission to lock them in the root cellar.”

“I will keep them strictly confined to the gardens.” Jane kissed her aunt’s cheek. “Have a wonderful journey, Lizzy. Bring me back a sketch of the peaks.”

Elizabeth read the unspoken plea in her sister’s eyes. Bring me back some peace. Bring me back some distraction. “I shall sketch every rock and sheep I encounter, just for you.”

The process of loading the Gardiner carriage was akin to packing a travelling circus into a thimble. Trunks were strapped, unstrapped, and rearranged by the sweating, cursing coachman. Mrs Bennet fluttered dangerously close to the wheels, offering contradictory advice and loudly lamenting the dust.

“Ensure Lizzy sits facing forward, Brother! She gets green if she rides backwards, and a green complexion will never, ever catch a husband!” Mrs Bennet leaned on Mrs Philips, fanning herself.

Elizabeth gratefully accepted her uncle’s assistance up the folding steps. She settled into the plush squabs, taking the forward-facing seat across from Aunt Madeline. The interior smelt of polished leather and Aunt’s subtle lavender water—a welcoming contrast to the scent of smelling salts and boiled cabbage that dominated Longbourn.

Harold appeared at the open carriage door, thrusting a muddy, much-offended toad into Elizabeth’s lap. “For protection from highwaymen!”

Elizabeth shrieked, scrambling backwards and pressing herself flat on the glass window. The toad released a wet croak, staring at her with bulging judgemental eyes.

Aunt Madeline calmly retrieved a lace handkerchief from her reticule, deftly scooped the muddy amphibian off Elizabeth’s travelling gown, and dropped it securely into Harold’s waiting hands. “Thank you, Napoleon. We are sufficiently fortified. Now, step back before the wheels flatten your boots.”

The door shut, sealing them in a bubble of relative tranquillity. The driver cracked his whip, the horses lunged forward, and the carriage lurched down the gravel drive.

Elizabeth leaned out the window, waving a final farewell to the tableau on the stone steps. Jane was wrestling the toad away from a protesting Harold. Mrs Bennet was swooning dramatically into Mrs Philips’s waiting arms. Mary was absent, likely upstairs mourning her detached hair.

As the familiar shape of Longbourn disappeared behind the treeline, Elizabeth sank back, releasing a long breath. The farrago was behind her, the open road stretched ahead, and Derbyshire awaited. She smoothed the muddy spot on her skirt, a smile touching her lips. Whatever Derbyshire held, it would be a grand adventure. And she would be miles away from anyone named Mr Darcy.

The initial thrill of escaping Longbourn’s perpetual madness evaporated four hours into the journey, replaced by a bruising reality. Travelling by carriage for days on end was not a romantic adventure; it was an exercise in endurance.

For three interminable days, the Gardiner carriage rattled, jolted, and bounced along the rutted turnpikes heading north. The late June heat baked the roof, turning the plush interior into an oven. A fine layer of grey dust seeped through the windows, settling on their clothes, their eyelashes, and the tip of Uncle Edward’s nose.

Elizabeth shifted her weight for the hundredth time, attempting to find a patch of squab that had not been flattened into the density of granite. Her left foot had gone numb again, and her right knee throbbed in time with the carriage springs.

Uncle Edward, having the remarkable ability to sleep through a hurricane, snored in the corner. His head bobbed with the swaying of the vehicle, his chin resting on his snowy cravat. Opposite him, Aunt Madeline sat straight, focused on a volume of poetry she had not turned a page of in over two hours.