Chapter 8 Runaway Bride
In the oldest and most rundown Darcy carriage, Elizabeth and Mr Darcy acted as two people with a newfound, violent love would. They sat awkwardly on opposite sides with no notion how to relieve the tension of what they had just subjected themselves to. The planning had been performed with efficiency, due to the hast required. Now, with nothing to do but gaze out into the shady streets of London, a sheepish silence had descended inside the carriage.
Elizabeth redirected her thoughts towards the last hour. Dressed in an outdated frock from her betrothed's late mother, without the beautiful lace that a maid had helped her remove while Darcy entertained his guests. It fitted her snuggly in places while being too generous in others, mainly the length. The late Mrs Darcy had been a tall and willowy lady which was reflected in both her offspring. Elizabeth was short and curvy but the maid had insisted it fitted perfectly for a lady's maid who had received old, handy down gowns as part of her payment.
She let her eyes drift to Mr Darcy. He wore an old suit from his late father's wardrobe while the shadow of his facial hair seemed to grow by the hour. Elizabeth wondered what he would look like with a fully grown beard. Elizabeth was one of the few who liked a bearded man but a beard would also conceal his strong jaw, a feature she particularly liked to study.
Their scheme was a simple one. They would travel incognito while imposing as a valet and lady's maid, supposedly on their way to their next assignment. If the Campbells or Mr Collins should follow them, they would use fabricated names and had another little twist up their sleeves. Graitney, more familiarly known as Gretna Green was broadly known as the place to go for eloping couples.
After Sarah Anne Child eloped with John Fane, 10th Earl of Westmoreland on the twentieth of May 1782, chased by her recalcitrant father.
Everyone knew about the blacksmith who married the couple over the anvil. Robert Child followed them to Scotland but he was too late to prevent the marriage, it was not too late to change his will though...
The enraged father cut his daughter from his will, in a very public affair. He swore that no Earl of Westmoreland would ever benefit from his wealth. As a result, his wealth passed to his eldest granddaughter, Sarah Child Villiers, the Countess of Jersey.
Therefore, Darcy and Elizabeth were headed towards Coldstream bridge and the toll booth, also known as the wedding house. It was situated on the north side of the Tweed, on Scottish soil, where they would marry...
It was days ahead though, close to 350 miles. A journey who would take the better part of a week to accomplish in less than favourable conditions.
Mr Darcy's conundrum was how to behave in the interim between the acceptance of his hand and actually being married. He was in no doubt of what he wanted to do which was enveloping the temptress with the snug bodice opposite him in a passionate embrace. He doubted Elizabeth was of the same mind though... She faced the darkened streets that were about to become even darker as they were nearing a more rural area which meant the end of the dim street lights. He knew they had to find lodgings soon, it was not safe to travel in complete darkness, on the outskirts of London.
His thoughts had not ventured past the practical and averting the predicament of his Elizabeth marrying the outrageous Mr Collins.
The horses slowed down, they must have reached Edgeware, their first stop, ten miles into their three-hundred and forty-one-mile journey. Not a word had been exchanged between them, both had been lost in thought and the awkwardness of the moment.
Elizabeth hid her fiery tresses in an old mob cap from his mother's dressing room. He had not thought that the room had been left untouched since his mother passed.
He had never ventured into her rooms after she perished in childbirth, leaving his father grief-stricken, turning towards drink and shallow amusements as playing at cards with his steward's son.
His thoughts ended abruptly as the carriage drew to a halt, Elizabeth's tresses carefully hidden.
"Slump," Elizabeth whispered after they had alighted from the carriage and was heading towards the entrance of the roadside Inn.
"What?"
"Slump you shoulders, no one is ever going to believe you are anything less than a nobleman if you keep your excellent posture. You have shadows on your jaw but not enough to conceal your heritage, therefore, slump..."
Darcy did the best he could but lifelong training was difficult to suppress in a matter of minutes.
"You're in luck, we're almost full," the Innkeeper muttered under his breath, not even looking up from his ledger while Mr Darcy fought to quell a groan. "I have one small single left."
"Surely, you can find us an extra room? A small one would suffice, we are not finicky." Elizabeth laid her Scottish burr on thick.
The innkeeper looked up for a moment, scrutinizing the couple's attire. It was of good quality but decades out of fashion and had obviously been mended. A valet and a lady's maid, he immediately surmised.
"I've got a servant room in the attic, 'tis all I've left."
"Thank you," Elizabeth smiled to the old man who was not moved.
"Names!"
Elizabeth glanced at Darcy, they had not gotten that far as to decide which name to use. Smith was too obvious...
"Williams," Darcy answered the man.
"Kincaid," Elizabeth added.
"That will be six shillings," the man waved towards the stairs as soon as the shillings touched his desk. "On the top, end of the hall, to the right, Mr Williams. Miss Kincaid, follow me." The innkeeper dragged his feet up the stairs to a small room on the first floor, just above the noisy common room.
"You should take this," Elizabeth looked at Darcy. "I am sure the one in the attic is even smaller and I am much shorter than you..."
"Absolutely not!" Darcy looked aghast at her, getting an askance look from the innkeeper who immediately detected that at least one of his new guests was infatuated with the other.
"Get some sleep, we have a long day of travelling ahead of us on the morrow, Miss Kincaid."
The innkeeper left them and let Darcy find his own way to the attic.
The room was the smallest Darcy had entered that was not a cupboard. With the sloping roof, he was no longer able to stand up straight after he had crossed the threshold. He had to sit on the bed because the roof was too low by the chair but Elizabeth would have fitted perfectly.
The only advantage with the room was the small peephole, he refused to call it a window, on the wall. Making it possible to add some fresh air to a room, hardly fit for one.
Elizabeth looked around on the narrow bed and even smaller floor space, wondering what kind of accommodations Mr Darcy had to put up with if this closet was deemed a guest room. Picturing him in cramped space with a short cot, his long legs dangling off the end... Better not let her mind drift in that direction, not yet.
Not a word had been spoken about it but she was glad he had taken it for granted that they would procure separate sleeping arrangements. It spoke well of his respect for her, another good quality she could tuck away in her minds treasure chest.
She readied herself for sleep swiftly and lay down on the hard, lumpy bed.
The racket from below seemed like it increased in volume. Shouting and quarrelling could be easily heard, she could even discern what was being said.
The floorboards creaked outside her room, making her appreciate the lock on her door. The common room being occupied with blootered men...
They were not off as early the next morning as Darcy would have preferred. He lay awake, fretting about Elizabeth's safety, alone two floors below him. The pandemonium from the common room drifted up into his attic room, dulled by the distance but not entirely drowned out. It must be difficult to sleep directly above it... Not to forget the ruckus that would form when they finally succumbed to their exhaustion and retired. An unwelcome picture emerged in Darcy's mind. What if one of them took a wrong turn and accidentally went into Elizabeth's room... Had he remembered to advise her to lock the door, did the door even have a lock?
Darcy tossed and turned, sleep was impossible. He gave in, rose from his cot and stealthily crept down the stairs with the chair from his room on his arm.
Darcy put the chair down outside of Elizabeth's room, sat down and stretched his long legs in front of him, pulling his hat over his eyes. It was going to be a long night... Unfortunately, it had lasted until the sun was up above the horizon, making his intention of leaving at first light mute.
Elizabeth stuffed her hair into the mob cap after his mother but in broad daylight, her fiery tresses could not be concealed no matter her diligence. At least one curl consistently insisted on escaping its confinement.
She left her room to find Mr Darcy, not a difficult feat when he was fast asleep in a chair outside her room. His arms crossed over his chest with his long legs stretched in front of him. His hat was pulled over his eyes...
Elizabeth lifted the hat gently, the gentleman did not stir.
She wondered if his room had been uninhabitable or if he had chosen this form of accommodation to protect herself. She sensed that it was the latter and kissed his cheek. "Elizabeth," he whispered.
The joy she felt by hearing her own name from his half awake, half asleep state was euphoric.
His eyes fluttered open to a brilliantly smiling Elizabeth. 'Would that he could do that every morning...'
They broke their fast in the common room. A few random but decidedly bawdy remarks were directed at Elizabeth which she judiciously overlooked. Darcy stopped and glared but Elizabeth grabbed his arm and pulled him into an unoccupied corner. James and Euan soon joined them and the meal was quickly devoured.
"We will proceed to St Albans and The Fighting Cocks. It, at least, has decent food as the oldest Inn in the country. We will rest our horses there, eat a little more and refill our baskets. Hopefully enabling us to cover some distance today. How does the weather look, James?"
"Fine travelling weather, Sir. Clear skies and no wind."
"Good."
They decided to go the fourteen miles to St, Albans in one stretch and settled into the carriage.
Darcy wracked his brain for something that could break the silence. How come he suddenly got so tongue-tied in Elizabeth's company? He was usually adequately equipped for conversation.
"I misspoke earlier, The Fighting Cock does not claim to be the oldest hostelry but the oldest inhabited house in England." Inane but the best he could come up with. It succeeded in turning Elizabeth's magnificent eyes towards him.
"Is it?"
"Unlikely, it is either sheer impudence or a jest. The quaint octagonal building is definitely old, it used to be the water-gate of the ancient, embattled St. Germaine's Gate Monastery who disappeared around five hundred years ago. It has an inscription on the wall saying: The old rounded house, rebuilt after the flood. I doubt it means the Deluge as the house is situated low by the river Ver..."
His inanity was rewarded with a tinkling laugh that reminded him of the early birds in the spring.
"Really? I am looking forward to verifying it with my own eyes."
Her eyes that were currently directed at him with the sun highlighting the silver specks in the blue and green orbs, rendering him speechless and mute, deprived of the ability to think. Darcy shook his head, clearing the spindly cobwebs that her beauty spun in his mind.
"I will be eagerly awaiting your verdict on the matter. Perhaps we can once and for all determine if it is mockery or audacity?"
An hour later, the brick and timber storey came into view.
"Oh my! It is old... Are you sure it was not here by the time of the Deluge?"
"Are you voting against either joke or boast Madame and declaring it to be real?"
"Perhaps," Elizabeth smirked and sauntered out of the carriage before he had the wherewithal to aid her descent.
They had an hour to enjoy a meal while the horses rested. Their next stretch would be the longest as they hoped to cover thirty miles before another rest was needed and the last leg of fifteen to twenty miles was hopefully completed. Over sixty miles a day with one pair of horses was ambitious but the carriage was, despite its old age, light and the road was in good condition.
The meal was much better than breakfast had been at the inn in Edgeware but Elizabeth was eager to stretch her legs. In the backyard of the inn was a lovely garden with ripe apples and blooming flowers. Darcy saw the longing looks she directed at the garden and smiled.
"Would you take a turn around the garden with me, Madam?"
"With pleasure, Sir."
Darcy sprung from his chair, pulled out Elizabeth's chair and offered her his arm with an exaggerated bow. He was awarded for his effort with a strophe of the tinkling laughter he adored so much. He straightened and guided them towards the garden when an unwelcome sight caught his eye. He proceeded as nothing had happened but Elizabeth felt him stiffen under her hand. Fortunately, she turned her eyes towards his countenance rather than taking a backward glance.
Instead of leading her through the orchard, Darcy turned left and walked them behind the mews.
A back door was open and he moved in front of Elizabeth, shielding her from view.
He whistled and James came in a matter of seconds.
"Harness the horses, Elizabeth and I will go through the woods and meet you up on the main road. We have got company."
James nodded and disappeared. Darcy took a firm hold of Elizabeth's hand and stealthily climbed the hill leading to the Great North Road, conscious of keeping them obscured from prying eyes at the inn whilst pulling Elizabeth along.
She instinctively knew she should not ask any questions. The realisation of the unwavering trust she had in Darcy astonished her and that was what occupied her thoughts while she trailed forward and upwards.
They reached the road and kept amongst the trees until their carriage approached.
"Biggleswade," Darcy whispered to James who nodded his assent. Darcy lifted Elizabeth into the carriage as the step had been folded up and jumped in after her. The carriage had not even stopped.
"I do not understand how they caught up with us so quickly. I thought we would have, at least, a days advantage but we have less than an hour."
"Who caught up with us?" Elizabeth inquired.
"You did not see them?" Darcy asked incredulously. Elizabeth shook her head.
"Mr and Mrs Campbell entered just as we left, Mr Collins followed a few steps behind them. I am a little bewildered, Elizabeth. If you did not see your relations, why did you follow me so quietly in the opposite direction to what we agreed?" Darcy deliberately left out the fourth in their company. The one who had left his blood running cold...
Elizabeth leaned forward and touched his arm. "I could feel your arm tense up under my hand, your muscles fletched and I looked up and saw the wariness in your eyes. I instantly knew something was amiss and surmised that I better follow your lead. You were quiet, I thought you might have a reason to..."
Darcy caught Elizabeth's hand as she tried to pull away. He cradled it in his large hands, worn from riding his horse for hours a day. Her dainty hand was the same size as his palm but delicate and soft as opposed to his calloused ones. 'It dawned on him that he had been remiss as he had brought her no ring for the wedding. He would have to give her his signet ring, hidden away on his person while they travelled.
She deserved so much more though... Willingly defying the wishes of her family to be his, even though he had insulted her grievously. Worse than any other he had ever disparaged, worse than Wickham...' Darcy groaned and let his thumbs brush over her hand. 'What he had done to deserve her, he did not know but he felt like he was the lucky one. A reversal from his past skirmishes with romance. He had felt a vain superiority over every lady he had paid any attention to but not Elizabeth.' He kissed her hand before he let it go. Leaning back into the firm, worn seat of his father's old coach. It was not as comfortable as his new landau nor his mother's barouche but it was light, speedy and unmarked. He had decided to sell it but had not had the time to bring it to the dealer. Now, he would not want to. It had proved to have some use left in it. If he was lucky, it might even hold the memory of his first kisses as a married man.
Darcy's eyes closed as he leaned back in his seat, Elizabeth figured she should rest as well and fell asleep.
She was awoken rudely by the shaking from the potholes on the road, they were clearly in an area with less maintained roads as the carriage rattled and shook.
"Are we there already?" Darcy rubbed his eyes and shook himself awake.
"It depends on what you mean by there. The last inn was the Fighting Cock... Are we perhaps going to the Peaceful Hen, the newest hostelry in England? I am eager to hear about your next historical inn."
Darcy looked at her sheepishly. He did like to include a history lesson or four but Elizabeth did not seem to mind. She might be less forgiving when he revealed where they were headed.
"We are not stopping at an inn this time. With the Campbells and their company so close on our heels, I decided to stop in Biggleswade. Hopefully gaining some headway while staying away from the inns will leave no trail for them to follow. Hopefully, they will give up and return home. If they continue north, it is very likely they will turn west at either Doncaster or Leeds, the first option is a hundred and twenty miles ahead, another 14 if they choose the slightly better road from Leeds. We need to be vigilant. We will lodge a few miles off the main road tonight but for now, I know about a good resting spot, down by the river Ivel, where the horses can rest and we can eat the meal we purchased at the Fighting Cock. James is a keen angler, we have stopped here before and have permission from the landowner to do so. There are large barbels, chubs, perches to be had and some smaller roaches and pikes as well."
The carriage came to a halt under some large birch trees. The woodland opened up and gave way for grassland along the riverbank. Giving them an option between basking in the sun or languishing in the shade. Elizabeth heard their driver curse, it was a beautiful spot but not as mind-blowing as to wield profanity. She rounded the carriage and saw why the driver had felt the need to swear. Darcy observed the same as she and immediately put his large frame in front of her, shielding her from the danger. Elizabeth thought they might seem less threatening with a female amongst them but what did she know about the male mind...
Whomever they had encountered by the river, fanned out as they approached. Elizabeth could hear them rather than see them, by Darcy's rigid posture she guessed they were outnumbered.
A flash of colour reached Elizabeth, hidden behind the broad back of her betrothed. Her gaze was drawn to the right and she gasped as she recognised the wearer of the vibrant colours.
"Shuri?"
"Lizzy?"
The ladies ran towards each other, heedless of their companions' efforts to stop them both and embraced one another in a fierce hug.
"What are you doing this far south?" Shuri inquired.
"I could have ask you the same but I am going to favour you with an answer instead. I am on my way north because I am getting married."
Shuri peered over Elizabeth's shoulder at the men that accompanied her.
"Which one?"
"The tall, dark and handsome one," Elizabeth replied with a smirk.
"Really? With your short-comings, pun intended, you could have settled for one of the shorter ones."
Elizabeth laughed and swatted Shuri's arm.
"I never settle..."
"No, I guess you would not." Shuri sighed when silence fell over the assembled folk.
An old, silver-haired man had stepped forward through the crowd of Gipsies.
"Sylvester Boswell?" Darcy asked.
"Yes, and you must be young master Darcy, the resemblance is uncanny. How is your father?"
Darcy bowed to the elderly man in front of him.
"He passed three years ago."
"I would have thought the old chief more resilient."
"I wish..."
The head of the Boswell Gypsy Tribe waved away his men, offering the interlopers a place around the fire.
"We are on our way north and need to rest our horses for a couple of hours. James, my driver, would like to try his luck in the river if you do not mind?"
"Help yourself," the old man infamously known as Wester Boswell waved James away, Euan followed and the two men started digging for worms. Glad to keep their distance.
"So... You are tying the knot with little Lizzy, a beautiful highland rose. She saved Shuri's mother Loverin from drowning in the Loch Tay."
Darcy coloured slightly by the remembrance of another highland flower mention in context with his fiancée.
"You still owe me a skirt though, Lizzy. The little imp told Loverin to loosen her garments, claiming they were dragging her down." The old man scoffed.
"It was the skirt or your daughter, Mr Boswell. I was not of an age to pull her up by myself. I believe I know what you would choose in my position." Elizabeth was not intimidated by the grumpy old man. He admired her more for it.
"Are you sure you can handle this much fire, Darcy?"
Darcy's colour deepened further while another of his insults sprung to mind. The old man chuckled at his obvious discomfort.
"You better threat this one softly, Lizzy, or he might lose more than his speech."
Darcy cleared his throat but could not think of anything to say. He opted to collect the basket of victuals from the carriage and offered his fiery flower something to eat while the horses grassed on the riverbank and the men were trying their luck with the rods.
James caught a large barbel which the Boswell patriarch allowed him to cook on the fire.
"Are you sure you would not prefer a more demure wife, Mr Darcy?" Sylvester Boswell asked while Elizabeth were frolicking in the grass with some of the children. Chasing them around.
"Quite," he answered without hesitation.
Elizabeth stumbled and fell on the grassy riverbank. Fortunately, she immediately sat up, laughing at her own folly. One of the shoes remained on the grass a few feet behind her. A little unkempt Gipsy girl fetched it and studied it intently.
"They are a little on the large side, it came off as I ran." Elizabeth excused herself.
"I would not mind the extra height with these heels, may I trade them with mine? They are much smaller..."
Elizabeth laughed merrily.
"My feet are not that small, darling but it was a lovely thought. Thank you!
Heels are not in fashion anymore. I love the added height as well but it is the low slippers that are all the rage in London at the moment, unfortunately. I was lucky to get my hands on these used ones from a great lady though. Did you know that initially, it was men that wore heels?"
The little Gypsy imp looked at Elizabeth with eyes the size of dinner plates. "No, do tell me, please?"
"Have you heard of the sun king, Louis XIV?" The little girl nodded gravely. "Well, he did not invent the shoe but as other French men I would not dare name, he was a little short like you and me... High heels originated in Persia and were worn by soldiers to keep their feet in the stirrups. Particularly convenient for the archers who stood up in their saddle when they shot with their bow and arrow. King Louis adopted the fashion when he saw them worn by emissaries from Shäh Abbäs I of Persia, in the early seventeenth century. The heels of the upper éclat had to be higher and of a red colour to distinguish themselves from the commoners. Ladies soon adopted the fashion but their heels were thinner which eventually led to the fairy tale of Cinderella because it was looked upon as the height of fashion to have small feet, you see. Have you heard the story about Cinderella?" The little girl shook her head while her imploring eyes bore into Elizabeth's, begging for her to continue. The little imp had listened with rapt attention while Elizabeth gave her little history lesson. More children had gathered around the two while she spoke and further more huddled close as Elizabeth related the fairy tale of the princess with the dainty glass shoe.
It was three in the afternoon when James deemed the horses sufficiently rested to manage the last twenty miles to Grantham. They bade the Gipsies farewell and set out on the last leg of the day.
"How do you know the Boswells?" Elizabeth inquired as soon as they had settled in the carriage.
"I do not, personally. My father allowed them to camp on our land, many years ago. I was at Eton at the time but I remember father talking about them."
"No history lesson?" Elizabeth invited when he grew quiet.
"No, not this time."
"A pity..."
Alconbury had a small quaint inn but at least they had rooms to spare.
Elizabeth and Darcy ordered victuals sent to their rooms and retired for the evening. It was a little early still for sleeping and they read verses of the Scottish poet Robert Burns. Elizabeth's favourite part of the evening was when Darcy red the poem: A red, red rose with so much feeling you might think he spoke for himself.
O my Luve's like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June;
O my Luve's like the melodie
That's sweetly play'd in tune.
As fair are thou, my bonie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my Dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.
Till a' the seas gang dry, my Dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun:
I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.
And fare thee weel, my only Luve!
And fare thee weel, a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho' it were ten thousand mile!
They retired to much more comfortable beds this evening with room enough to sleep. The chambers had a connecting door which Elizabeth chose not to lock. She hid behind the screen to undress and wash for the first time in two days. The prior night she had slept with all her garments on, including her tightly laced stays. She was sore where it had rubbed against her skin. She needed help to loosen the ties, reluctantly she knocked on the connecting door. He had been appalled when she had waved off his concerns for a chaperone during their travels as nonsensical. They were betrothed after all, within days of their vows. It would be no hardship to adhere to proper conduct for a week.
Darcy had behaved admirably, it was she who presently exerted a problem.
She longed for his embrace, his kisses, his abandonment of every notion of restraint. She sighed, perhaps he should have chosen one of those pale, meek, English roses instead of the Highland thistle with too little deference to ladylike conduct.
He called for her the enter, luckily, he was still decent.
"May I be of assistance, Elizabeth? You have sighed heavily three times now..."
"Yes, I am stuck in my stays and they are gnawing into my skin but my arms seem to lack a joint or two to manage by myself."
Elizabeth hoped her latest reveries could not be discerned on her countenance and that Darcy accounted for her crimson cheeks to her need for aid. One good thing about being freckled, she blushed only half of what those creamy English roses did. The thought cheered her and she could not stop the smile that spread over her countenance.
"A penny for your thoughts?"
"I just thought of an advantage of having freckles," she smirked and turned her back on him.
"Want to tell me?"
"No," the blush spread anew and trailed down her neck while Darcy deftly unlaced her stays. "Thank you," she whispered and quickly left his chamber. The touch of his hands had left frissons on her skin that kept on quivering.
It felt heavenly to have divested herself of the tight garment, elevated further by the sensation of warm soapy water. The maid had packed a bar of Miss Darcy's lily of the valley scented soap, a luxury highly appreciated by Elizabeth.
She pulled a borrowed shift over her head and emerged from the screen.
The bed was not quite as comfortable as she was used to at home but adequate for a nights sleep. A sleep which did not come...
She lay alerted, listening for sounds from the adjoining room. The floorboards creaked but any other sounds were drowned out by the loud snoring emanating from the room on the other side. The walls must be paper-thin as it sounded like the snorer was inside her room.
Darcy was probably undressing or washing as the bed had not creaked yet. Her thoughts involuntary reverted back to a balmy evening, just a couple of weeks ago and a scenic river view.
Finally, sleep claimed her.
The Angel Inn in Grantham, 46 miles hard-earned miles since their night Alconbury, was a large and busy in compared to their previous locations. Two rooms was hired for the betrothed couple while James and Euan lodged in the stables. The horses were exhausted and needed a long rest.
Their meagre luggage were carried to their chamber but they immediately ventured downstairs to order their next meal to be sent to their chambers and the basket filled by dawn on the morrow. They were not comfortable staying in the common room. The great room extended over the whole front of the first floor of the Angel inn. It made it difficult to get an overall view of the other guests.
"It was here, in the bay of the beautiful gothic oriel window that Richard the third signed the death warrant on the Duke of Buckingham, 19th of October 1483."
"Finally, a historical anecdote. I was worried you had exhausted the topic."
Darcy smirked, his Elizabeth was something else, beseeching his anecdotes rather than petitioning for him to leave off. Adding her own, on occasions...
Her eyes ha bewitched him but it was the woman behind that he fell in love with. He needed to wed her, sooner rather than later for his own sanity. If the Campbells had managed to employ his cousin's tracking, planning and reconnoitring, their wit might be left wanting. He needed to come up with a plan his cousin could never believe him embarking on, something he had sworn he would never do...
"Elizabeth?" Darcy addressed his betrothed with trepidation. "I wonder what your thoughts are on travelling on the stagecoach?"
"It is fast and uncomfortable, I would imagine. Is there anything wrong with the carriage?"
"No, I am just worried about the speed we are currently travelling at. The horses are tired and it is too late to order new horses at every stop, it would slow us down further to await answers. It is fifty-five miles to Doncaster where they may or may not turn west, off the Great North Road. If they want better roads, they might want to continue another fifteen miles to Pontefract, south of Leeds. It might be another seventy miles before they turn off. We know the Gardiners are close on our heels with Mr Collins. I am not too worried about them. We are three stout men against two men and a lady but there was a fourth person among them that I have not mentioned to you..."
"Why ever not?" The anger in her voice was unmistakable.
"I have tried to come up with an excuse for him to accompany them but I have not found one."
"Is it someone you are close to?" The anger in her voice had mellowed into a slight annoyance.
"Yes, my cousin Richard. He is a Colonel in his Majesty's Army and my closest confidant. We grew up more like brothers than cousins, I cannot fathom he has betrayed me for a couple of strangers and our aunt's sycophantic parson. Perhaps he is heavily invested in your uncle's business, I do not know. What I do know is that he is a difficult opponent to have, having been trained in the army and he has fought by the front."
"Do you believe we would stand a better chance on the stagecoach?"
"Yes, because Richard would never look for me on it. We could send James and Euan in our carriage to Pemberley where they could exchange the carriage for the landau and meet us some point in Scotland. Would you like to stop by Eilean Bennet Castle on our way home?"
"Aye, most definitely. I am eager to hear their excuses for divesting themselves of me in such a fashion. Besides, I would like to take Camkirk home with me. He deserves better..."
Darcy readily agreed readily because Elizabeth had just called Pemberley home...
*Information about the Inns from the book: The old Inns of the old England by Charles Harper.
*Inspiration for the gipsies from the Worcestershire Chronicles 22nd march 1890 about the Boswell Gypsy tribe.