Chapter 15
Kendal
We said our farewells to Colonel Fitzwilliam that evening.
He was to take horse early in the morning, first to ride to Pemberley, a distance of one hundred and thirty miles—and then a similar distance to Meryton.
His horse, which had been exercised daily on the hills about Ambleside, was a highly-conditioned, well-fed beast. I had visited with it in the stables, for though I had no inclination to speak of horseflesh as most men did, I admired a fine animal, and Bucephalus, for that was his name, was quite magnificent.
The Colonel reckoned on three days to Pemberley, perhaps even less if the roads remained dry.
I would miss him—certainly, the only gentleman of my acquaintance whose absence I would genuinely repine.
We had enjoyed a playful, flirtatious banter—but a romantic interest?
First, I had decided that I would not marry, preferring to become a spinster aunt and teach Jane’s children to play music and embroider.
Second, the Colonel had confessed to me that younger sons of earls cannot marry where they like—their habits of expense are too great, and they must marry a woman of fortune.
I had quipped, “I suppose you would not ask above fifty thousand pounds?”
He assented, and the subject was dropped.
Which, of course, was to our benefit, since we could flirt knowing that a match between us was impossible.
It was quite intoxicating to possess such freedom, and I began to wonder whether a spinster hidden away in Netherfield Park was truly what I wished for.
Could I find similar felicity in marriage?
Indeed, did married couples flirt? I hadn’t thought of it before.
Disconcertingly, I found, for all my vaunted wisdom gained from reading histories in Papa’s library, that I knew very little of the world and the interplay between man and woman.
* * *
We were to travel to Kendal by open landau!
Lydia would be so pleased—she had always wished to sit in one, waving at the passersby.
John Willis, our coachman, had suggested that we harness our Cumberland Bays to Mr. Darcy’s horses, for they had been given scant exercise over the past two days and needed the work.
With four horses pulling the carriage up Troutbeck Hill on the Kendal Road, our journey would be swift and easy.
It was readily agreed upon, and before ten o’clock I stood before the landau, its twin hoods folded down, its black lacquered paintwork shining brilliantly in the morning sun, and the Darcy crest adorning the doors.
Luke, Mr. Darcy’s coachman, sat on the box holding the ribbons; John stood by the lead nearside horse, ready to ride postilion.
James, our footman, assisted Mama, Miss Darcy, and me into the carriage, where we took the forward facing seats.
It was all so magnificent—I felt like a duchess.
Georgiana had elected to wear her riding habit of the day before, which had been aired and pressed overnight.
Certainly, her wearing it would make the selection of ribbons for her new bonnet easier.
She wore a pert hat, pinned at a jaunty angle on her head.
She looked every bit a duke’s daughter. Mama wore her jade walking dress with the matching wide brimmed hat; and I, my red woollen walking dress, with a red silk bonnet—it had no brim, and my complexion was sure to suffer, but I forsook practicality for elegance—surely not vanity?
“Mrs. Bennet, Miss Elizabeth, Georgiana. A beautiful day complementing the beauty in our carriage. I believe that Fitzwilliam and I will be the envy of all Cumbria.” Mr. Darcy stepped easily into the landau, taking a backward-facing seat opposite Mrs. Bennet.
Darcy climbed in behind, sitting opposite Georgiana and me.
“Indeed, sir,” I replied, “the horses have been groomed to look like polished mahogany. Your team and ours are very handsome.”
Even Darcy smiled, catching my eye. “Equus reflectit equitem—the horse reflects the rider, Miss Elizabeth.”
I laughed. “Optimum est pati quod emendare non possis—it is best to endure what you cannot amend. You are stuck with me today, sir, being forced to glare either at me or Georgiana. John, your coachman, likely will refuse to relinquish the ribbons—unlike yesterday, when you took the helm—thus you have no choice in the matter.”
“Lizzy, enough Latin. You must enjoy the view, and leave off teasing Darcy.” Mama turned to Mr. Darcy. “I’m sure, sir, that Miss Darcy never gave you half so much trouble as my Lizzy does.”
“Oh no, Mrs. Bennet,” interposed Georgiana. “I have been ever so much trouble. No, Elizabeth is all that is proper and kind. If I were like her, then I would be very well pleased with myself.”
“Certainly, Mama. Darcy and I will endeavour to communicate without use of Lingua Romana. Though I suspect we may have difficulty understanding each other using modern languages, for we are too much steeped in the classics.” I turned to Georgiana.
“Oh, sweetling, you do not know my true character—certainly, I could do with a good measure of your reserve, for I am much too forward and impolite. A result, I think, of my rustic and rural upbringing.”
We were saved from further awkward discourse when Mr. Darcy pointed out a goshawk that was flying high above us. We watched in silence, observing the controlled power of its flight—a series of deep, heavy wingbeats interspersed with long, silent glides.
The landau rolled forward, the clatter of hooves and the rhythmic sway of the carriage so different from yesterday’s voyage in the cutter. The air was tinged with heather and the faintest hint of peat.
“It is such a fine morning. I’m glad, Lizzy, that you persuaded me to visit Kendal. I feared you wished to climb another of those peaks. I have scarcely recovered since ascending Loughrigg Fell the day before.”
“Loughrigg Fell? I thought you were returning from having visited Rydal Falls.” Darcy gave Mama an enquiring look.
“We visited the falls on our return, after descending and exploring Rydal Cave,” she replied.
“Though I am not sure I wish to visit more caves, I found it quite gloomy and depressing. But the view from the Fell was wonderful—I’m so glad we made the ascent, for all that I am no longer a young woman. ”
“Ma’am, I would rather say that you are in the prime of womanhood,” Mr. Darcy said earnestly, then turned to his daughter. “To have climbed the Fell! Georgiana, shall we make the ascent?”
Georgiana smiled, her eyes fixed on the passing hedgerows.
“I am not as adventurous as Mrs. Bennet or Elizabeth. Though I love the peaks, I wish only to admire them from a distance.” She giggled.
“Oh, I have never travelled in such style—four horses and the hood down. See, those passersby are waving at us—perhaps they think Papa is the Duke of Portland, come to inspect his Cumbrian estates?”
We all laughed, but Georgiana was right.
Everyone we passed on the road turned to stare.
Indeed, Darcy and his father were elegant in their tailored coats, sporting fashionable straw top hats.
And Mrs. Bennet, in her dark jade, with just a hint of lace trimming, was everything one would expect from a noble lady out for a morning excursion.
She held herself well, a few tendrils of golden hair falling about her neck, glowing whenever the sun burst through the clouds.
A companionable silence suited the journey.
The fields unfolded in gentle undulations, easily crested by the four strong horses.
The sun climbed higher, the fields and moors welcoming its warmth.
The landau creaked and bounced over a rutted patch of road, prompting a shriek of laughter from Georgiana, who clutched her hat with both hands.
“Never fear!” she cried. “I shan’t let this hat blow away.”
* * *
By noon, the distinctive grey limestone buildings of Kendal came into sight, their rooves topped with dark, durable slate—more than likely quarried from Rydal Cave. Our landau, drawn by a four-horse team, drew admiring glances as it pulled into the courtyard of the George and Dragon.
“Can we take nuncheon?” Georgiana asked. “So much fresh air has sharpened my appetite.”
“I know you too well,” said Mr. Darcy, chuckling. “I asked Richard to order a light luncheon from the inn when he passed through this morning. I suspect cold fowl, local damson preserve, fresh-baked bread, and perry or wine await those who wish it.”
After refreshing ourselves—as expected, the food was excellent!
—we departed the inn to view the ruins of Kendal Castle, perched atop a strange egg-shaped hill across from the town on the eastern bank of the Kent River.
It was only a short walk, perhaps less than a mile, but the hill was precariously steep.
“I declare, Darcy,” I said, pausing to catch my breath as we crested the rampart which surrounded the dry moat of the castle, “that you are breathing as heavily as I. Surely, sir, this is only a small hill compared to those of Derbyshire?”
“Oh no, Elizabeth, it is not Fitzwilliam who is struggling,” cried Georgiana, who was leaning heavily on her brother’s arm. “He has been pulling me up the slope. I must admit, I rarely walk at Pemberley, preferring to ride.”
I laughed. “I am no horse-woman, Georgiana; walking is my only alternative. ‘Tis fortunate, I think, for otherwise there would be two women being pulled up the incline by your brother—if Darcy would have me as well. I see Mr. Darcy is already occupied assisting Mrs. Bennet.”