This week as I was reviewing the timeline to make sure I had my days straight, I noticed a timing error in that in Chapter 20 (A Message and a Messenger) I had Mr. Gardiner shopping at Mr. Hill's shop on a Sunday afternoon, when I don't think the shops would have been open, but I couldn't push that to a Monday given the timing of Darcy learning about the assignation of the Prime Minister when on the road. Finally, I decided to rework how the message was delivered via Mr. Hill and re-edited that chapter accordingly.

Chapter 27: A Dream, a Delay and a Foal

Georgiana and I did not progress much further through the journals and letters that day, for it was already evening. Therefore, we agreed to halt our perusal, with plans to take it up again the following morning.

The next day, Georgiana and I broke our fast together and upon her suggestion we went on another walk. It was one of those days that starts out cold and clear but promises warmth later.

As we walked, this time behind the house and toward the hills, she reported, "I dreamt of father and mother last night. They were dancing in Pemberley's ballroom. The room was filled with their family and friends, but their eyes were ever fixed on one another. They were happy; oh, how they smiled. Mother's smile was . . . it was how it was before father died, but somehow happier than that."

I recalled how Mother's smile had differed after Father died. I perhaps would not have observed this difference had Georgiana not noted it for me.

I recalled her saying, when she was a girl of perhaps thirteen, "Brother, although Mother is better than she was, the wound of Father's death is with her still. Have you not seen how Mother's smile is wrong now?"

When I observed that I had not she directed me as to what to observe. "The next time Mother smiles, note how with a true smile her eyelids would crinkle, her cheeks lift, and you would see only a bit of her top teeth. Now when she smiles, it is more of a grimace. It does not reach her eyes and she bares her bottom teeth, too, as if to prove the lie."

Now, I strained to remember what my mother's true smile was like, as it was not thought to be seemly to smile for a portrait. It was easier, now, to remember her expression in my favorite painting of her, than what had only flashed briefly in her later years. I strained to remember it, but I thought, perhaps, I could remember Mother's true smile.

"How lovely such a dream must have been."

"Yes, but that is not all. You were there too, Brother, dancing with Miss Elizabeth and you looked at each other as our parents did. I was dancing also, but who I was dancing with, I could not make out, but in the dream that did not matter. I knew I loved him and that we would be wed. 'Twas a good dream."

I took a few moments to imagine her dream, all of us happy with the ones we loved. Part of it could come true, but part could not. "That sounds most pleasant."

"Yes, quite. When I awoke, all I wanted was to sink back into the dream again. I forgot to mention, I was wearing my favorite dress from the year before father died, but somehow it was still large enough."

I had no notion of the dress of which she spoke and shrugged.

"No matter, I will describe it to you and then, perhaps you will recall it. When I turned ten, Mother let me pick the design for a new dress and the exact fabric I desired. The dress was a bit ridiculous as only a girl of such an age might choose. It was a pale pink with soft lace, a wide skirt and plenty of flounces. I would always twirl around in it like so."

Georgiana spun then before me. Given her heavy coat against the chill of the morning, and narrower skirt, her dress did not spin so well. But even with such a poor imitation, this in fact reminded me. I could recall her begging for me to spin her around in it when she was not much taller than the bend of my elbow, so I nodded.

"Mama did not want to dye that dress black for mourning as she knew I liked it best, but when I could wear it again, it did not fit anymore. I remember crying about that, but it was not truly about the dress but about how nothing would ever be right again.

"I remember, in honor of my twelfth birthday, Mother offered to have a new dress made up for me as like to that one as could be. I did not really want another, but I consented to please her. The new dress somehow was not the same as the one before even if in appearance it was its larger twin. Perhaps it was that I was different, could not feel the same in wearing it. I was much too miserable to ever wish to spin in it.

"So, I suppose wearing that original dress in the dream (and it was the original dress, down to a small ink stain on the right sleeve and the exact lace trim although it was the proper length for a woman and not a girl) meant that everything was right in the world again."

Although I had not had that dream, I could well imagine it from Georgiana's description. Her recitation of it put me in a pleasant frame of mind that day and I was able to return to my task with reasonably good cheer.

However, my task soon had me frustrated again. Though I thoroughly perused my mother's journals and the letters that Georgiana did not, there were very few hints as to what my father did to gain my mother's hand. The next best reference I could find, after her journal entry discussing their wedding plans, was this in the concluding paragraph of a letter from her to him:

I cannot believe it has been ten years since you asked for my hand. How little then I deserved your devotion and all you had to take on when you stood up to my brother. How glad I am that you did not falter; your stubbornness served us so very well, without your certainty, I doubt I could have been so brave.

Our marriage is blessed with love of the rarest kind. You saw more in me at that time then there was to see, and our life together has vastly exceeded by girlish dreams. It has not always been easy when we disagreed, but I would not trade a minute of my time with you for years with someone else.

All my love,

Anne

As the day wound to a close, I felt no confidence that the answers I needed were still at Pemberley. Over dinner with Georgiana, I asked, "What think you of leaving tomorrow for London?" While it was phrased as a question, I had already concluded that this was what we would do, for Georgiana seldom gainsays me.

Without giving her an opportunity to respond, I explained my reasoning, "Although we have only spent two full days at Pemberley, I think no further answers are here and there is much that I would ask Lady Catherine about." I left unsaid that I felt a certain anxiousness to be gone as soon as could be. While there was much that still could be learned about Mother and Father, I doubted that I would find anything else of note that would help me with the Earl.

Georgiana seemed willing to leave, answering "Although I am not at all desirous of being back in the carriage again, it seems that to Rosings we must go. Surely Lady Catherine can give us further assistance."

However, her next words upset all my plans. "But Brother, I think you have forgotten something of import in your desire to be gone. Today is Friday, May 15th, and while we could travel on the morrow, we would not reach our destination before Sunday and should not travel on the Lord's day."

I was flummoxed, for somehow, I had lost track of my days. My first inclination was to pay no mind to the days. I opined, "What does it matter? We should go tomorrow because it is time to go." I began to tap my plate with my fork, making a din that rang in the room. My foot tapped along with it.

Georgiana leaned toward me and lightly placed a hand upon my moving wrist. I let the weight slow its speed. "We could stay Saturday eve and the following night, too, at an inn, attend a service in the hamlet where the inn is located and then proceed to travel on Monday."

The idea of remaining at an inn for the whole of a day, of attending an unfamiliar church, well to my mind that was less acceptable than remaining at Pemberley longer before beginning our journey. "No, no, we will not." I still wished to leave on the morrow as planned, all proprieties be damned.

"It is well," she told me. I thought Georgiana was conceding that we could leave and travel straight through, but her next words overthrew this notion. "If we remain at Pemberley until Monday, it will give us more time to review Mother's journals and correspondence. And, Brother, do you not recall that I set aside some letters from Nurse Storey for you? It is not good to be upon the road so swiftly. Are you not still saddle sore? I know despite the well sprung seats in the carriage that I am not eager to be confined to it again for two days."

I pulled back my arm and hit the plate harder with my fork. Not hard enough to crack it, but it was a near thing. Georgiana jerked back, away from me; her eyes widened but she said nothing. I had two simultaneous impulses, one was to hit the plate harder until it broke, perhaps even lift and throw it, unmindful of how much it might distress my sister, to just give into that need to rend and rage, the other impulse was to stop because of the effect it was having upon her.

I dropped the folk with a clatter, pushed my seat back and stood up. Without a word, I left the small dining room, stomping as I walked and slamming the door as I left.

I walked outside with no particular destination in mind, just knowing I had to get away and keep moving before I broke something or caused my sister further distress. I found myself at the stable. In my agitation, I neglected to note, however, that the stable was well lit, far more than would be typical.

As I entered, I took deep breaths of the horse smell. I found the smell comforting. Some of my best childhood memories were of visiting the horses and learning to ride. The stable was much as it had ever been.

My first impulse was to wish to ride. My thoughts were confused, and it took me some moments before my horse's stall before I recalled that my proper mount was currently being boarded near the first stop we had made from London. The substitute for him, well I did not wish to ride him.

I tried to think of which other horse I should wish to ride, but within moments I was certain I did not want to ride any of them. I shook my head, trying to clear it. It occurred to me then that riding any horse at all now would be impractical, could be dangerous, as it was dark outside.

A young stable boy, a dark-haired lad whose name I did not recall, apparently not noting my distress (or perhaps it was more masked now in my typical bland mien), asked, "Master, are you here to see about the foal?"

Those words took a few moments to penetrate from my ears to my mind. I recalled that the first of the mares to have come into season the prior year had been bred in June.

Long before meeting Miss Elizabeth and making plans to see her again in Kent, and then having lingered there past the normal time of things, I had meant to be in Pemberley all of May, to see what the outcome of such gestation would be. However, I had not thought about it for many months, had not so much as spoken with my stablemaster since my arrival in Derbyshire, had never thought to inquire as to whether Flora was waxing or there were any other signs that her time was to come during our brief interlude at Pemberley.

"Is Flora parturient?" I asked.

The boy's forehead tensed between his brows, his eyelids narrowed, and he made a sound in response that was not quite a "Huh?" or a "What?" It was more of a "Whun?"

I tried again. Certainly, I should not have expected him to know such a word. "Is Flora foaling?" I asked.

The confusion (for that was what I had determined it was), departed from his face. "Yes, in the last, larger stall. Hurry!"

I saw he was bearing two heavy buckets of water, undoubtedly for some cleaning up. Foaling was a messy business as I recalled. Or perhaps he was to water the other horses.

I grabbed a bucket from his hand and made my way past him to the stall he had indicated. In my speed, I sloshed a bit of water upon the stable floor but paid it no mind. Although I was certainly still distressed about Georgiana's proposal regarding altering my travel plans, I was most eager to see the foal being born, if indeed that had not occurred yet.

My stablemaster and two grooms made way for me outside the stall when they saw me, offering only quick nods of acknowledgment before turning back to the sight that had them transfixed. We all stood close to one another, almost touching, a distance which would have normally discomforted me, but I paid it no mind in the moment as I gazed over the stall door.

I was able to see that Flora was still standing in a stall with a thick layer of straw, her rear pointed in our direction, her tail raised. Therefore, it was easy to see that a whitish bubble had emerged from beneath her tail with a hoof and then two, visible within. Almost immediately thereafter, she knelt down and then laid down also. She had been with foal before and seemed to know just what to do.

I was vaguely aware of the stable boy (who was too small to see over the stall), affixing his eye to a knot hole on my right so he could see as well. However, we were all silent and it was easy to forget about the others while watching what was occurring.

I saw the foal's long front legs within the bubble for a moment, before her water broke as the foal's pointed nose emerged and then the rest of his head and neck followed. Almost immediately his whole body was pushed out, all in a gush. The whitish deflated sack still clung to his wet body.

I heard my stablemaster say, "Well done," to the mare.

Flora ignored him and the rest of us. She turned her head and neck in her foal's direction, whickered and snorted a greeting to him, and then licked him with her tongue.

I stayed as Flora cleaned him. I stayed as he made his first attempts to stand. I stayed while the afterbirth emerged, and feed and water were placed within the stall. I stayed until the colt (for it was a colt) had taken suck and then laid down again, and the mare had partaken of a meal.

As these things were occurring, I heard men come and go. It seemed that every stable hand took a moment to see the new colt, but I paid them no mind. I was entirely focused on the sight before my eyes and thoughts connected to Miss Elizabeth.

Someday, should we marry, she as Mrs. Darcy might become with and then be delivered of a child. While this process did not seem particularly onerous for the mare, I had a feeling that things were different for women. I also had the thought that should we marry, one day our own children might ride upon horses bred at Pemberley.

When I was entirely certain all was well with dam and foal, then I considered leaving. It was now quite late, yet I had not resolved things with Georgiana as to our journey. I half turned, my gaze still half focused on the horses within that stall, and almost walked into my sister. I startled; I had not realized she was there.

Georgiana grabbed my arm. "I have been here just a few moments. Mrs. Reynolds told me where you likely were when I enquired after you. Even some of the footmen have been out to see the colt. Your concentration seemed great. But what a sight, a fresh foal."

I felt a moment of regret. Should I have sent for my sister so that she could see the foal born? Nominally all the mares belonged to my sister and it was she who had selected the stallion of a neighbor to serve as stud (although naturally it was I who made the arrangement, had been present when the stallion covered the mare).

Neither the breeding nor the begetting of horses (or any other livestock) were sights that most gentlewomen would ever be privy to; it was not seemly from what I knew. However, although portions of seeing the foal born had been distasteful, it was also a wonder and a sight I knew I wished to see again. For once there was only the mare with a distended belly, and now there were two horses.

I asked, "Would you have wished to see the foal being birthed?"

Georgiana responded with another question, "Would you have let me see it?"

I shrugged, uncertain. I considered my sister, tried to evaluate her face. She showed no obvious sign of being distressed by my earlier display. I wished to make amends but there were too many people about.

I settled for saying, "You were correct of course. We should not travel on Sunday; we will remain here until Monday."

Georgiana gave a nod and then looked back into the stall. The two of us stayed for perhaps another half an hour. During this time, the colt stood up again and walked a bit on his long, awkward legs. It was both humorous and thrilling seeing him do so.

However, when Georgiana began rubbing her eyes, I instructed, "It is time you went to bed. Let us go back to the house."

The next morning, we both slept late. After breaking our fast, we walked out to the pasture. Flora and her colt, who I could now see had a fuzzy roan-colored coat a few shades lighter than her dam (although I suspected it would eventually be a similar shade to hers and not the deep brown of her sire's) had been turned out.

As we watched them, I set out my plans. "We should leave at first light on Monday, stop along the way and then spend the second evening in our London home before proceeding onto Kent the morning of the third day."

Georgiana, gently, judiciously, proposed an alteration in the travel plans. "As we go through London to return to Kent, should you not see Judge Darcy, take the needed steps to enlist his aid on the following day? That is, if he is available then. We could proceed to Rosings in the afternoon, or even the next day."

While the thought of any further delay was distasteful, I did not object outright (although I wanted to do so). Instead, recalling how I behaved before, I sought to control my tongue, gritted my teeth until the impulse to object vociferously passed a bit.

After some minutes I felt my conscience prick me. I said, "I am sorry for being so disagreeable yesterday."

"Thank you," Georgiana acknowledged, "But be not distressed. All is well between us. You are never one to like a change in plans. I understand why you were distressed, but should you behave like that before Miss Elizabeth, well I am not sure how she would react."

The notion of Miss Elizabeth seeing me bang upon the plate with my fork was distasteful. Would she think me like Anne?

"Still, I was glad you left rather than break the plate, or yell and scream at me." She noted, "There was a time in which you may not have had such control."

"I know you were not at fault, about how the days fall, but . . . I like things a certain way." Hearing those words from my lips, the explanation seemed deficient.

"Yes, you do," Georgiana acknowledged, placing her hand on my arm again. I felt myself relax a bit. "And many times, you may have them that way, but even you cannot control the days of the week, the notions of proper piety."

"I cannot."

"Brother, you need not decide now whether we shall remain in London for a time, so you may see our father's brother. Simply, please consider it."

I agreed to think upon it.

Later that day I reviewed some letters from Nurse Storey. Seeing her words upon the paper, although she said nothing remarkable, awoke a desire in me a stronger desire to see her.

On Saturday, the idea of seeking out Judge Darcy and delaying a further day, did not seem like such a distasteful prospect. I could almost imagine doing just that.

By Sunday, I told Georgiana. "I think you may be right, that we should try to remain in London an extra day or two, if it should mean seeking out and obtaining Judge Darcy's aid."

"There is yet much time to think about it," she reassured. "There will be ample time while we are on the road."