Elizabeth Bennet

On the road to Gretna Green

Elizabeth's nerves were fretting her, and she was truly concerned that she was becoming afflicted much like her mother seemed to be at all times. There they were, in the carriage, prepared to go and ruin Jane's perfect happiness, and Elizabeth could hardly stand it. She wished to speak up, cry out, yell, demand the carriage stop and they turn, but she could not.

It was only her aunt's reassurance, that the older woman had no intention of forcing Jane into a marriage to Mr. Darcy, that kept Elizabeth quiet. That, and Mr. Darcy's mien. She had never seen him so somber, so quiet, and he was a very somber and quiet man as a regular thing, she had observed.

But now, with the carriage jostling along, he did not say much, if anything at all. Mrs. Gardiner kept up a steady stream of chatter, of Mr. Gardiner's trade dealings, and the travels they had made to the Lakes district.

"You should come, Lizzy, when this is all in the past," Mrs. Gardiner said, laying a hand over Elizabeth's. Lizzy managed a smile for her aunt, but saw beyond her, the almost imperceptible shift as Mr. Darcy twisted his head to look at her and then back again, out the window.

"A visit to the Lakes district would be most welcome, but I must confess, right now I am entirely occupied with the outcome of our travel," Elizabeth said.

Mr. Darcy sighed.

"I am ashamed that my father has caused you all such grief," he said, speaking plainly and with such raw and urgent honesty Elizabeth couldn't help but be surprised by it. It was unlike Mr. Darcy to speak ill of anyone.

"Oh, Mr. Darcy, you must not fret," Mrs. Gardiner said. "Your father is in his later years, and it is the manner of all great men to take a funny turn, or form a strong opinion on a subject."

"I appreciate your kindness, Mrs. Gardiner, however this is no mere strong opinion," Mr. Darcy said. "His determination that I should marry Miss Bennet will ruin her happiness as well as the happiness of my closest friend. This is not a trip I make with any sort of joy." He pressed his lips together until they were a thin, pale line. "I wish my position was that I could refuse him, but at this point, I must not."

He sat back and rubbed his temples with both hands, his head clearly paining him. Elizabeth reached into her reticule and produced a small vial of scented oil that the apothecary had prepared for her.

"Here," she said, offering it to him. "It does well to chase away the pain, Mamma gets dreadful headaches, when her nerves take her."

He accepted the vial with a wry smile.

"Are you saying that I am having a fit of nerves?" he asked, although his voice suggested he was amused at the prospect and not offended. Elizabeth could not help but smile back at him.

"Is that not what we are all suffering?" she asked, turning the comment back to him with a teasing lilt to her voice. He opened the vial and shook out a few drops onto his fingers before rubbing them into the skin below his hairline. He passed the vial back to her and she tucked it away.

"If any one of us were to go to our beds tonight with peaceful dreams, I would be quite surprised," Mr. Darcy said. Mrs. Gardiner chuckled.

"Whiskey in your tea this evening then, Mr. Darcy, that should alleviate all your concerns and send you to sleep with ease," she commented, as she took out a bit of embroidery. Mr. Darcy's face went blank for a moment and then he laughed, softly, a noise that ended too soon. He glanced out the window and stared at the passing scenery.

Elizabeth settled in for the long trip, finding herself alternating between panic of their arrival at Gretna Green, and dozing. Her naps turned into a full, dreamless sleep, that only had her rousing once- her eyelashes fluttered as she felt pressure upon her, and she barely opened her eyes to look.

Mr. Darcy was leaning over her, balancing with his fingers wrapped around a handle near the ceiling of the carriage. With the other, he was tucking a travel rug around her with such gentleness that he might not have woken her at all if it hadn't been for a sudden bump of the carriage.

Elizabeth closed her eyes tightly again and let herself drift, the quiet conversation between Mr. Darcy and her aunt melting and fading away into the black of her sleep.

"Lizzy," Mrs. Gardiner's voice was low and hushed, bringing Elizabeth back into the world of the waking. Elizabeth yawned and stretched, noticing the carriage was stopped, and the door was open. It was still light outside, so they could not have travelled for the full day.

"Mmm," Elizabeth said as the scent of greenery outside reached her. "Where are we?"

"Stopping for a luncheon," Mrs. Gardiner said as she straightened her skirts and stepped out of the carriage. The conveyance rocked with the weight, and then straightened. Elizabeth rubbed the back of her neck with one hand; it was sore from her sleeping at odd angles, and her back was stiff from the ride. She was looking forward to being on solid ground for at least a little while, and having the opportunity to stretch her legs. Even though the Darcy carriage was very comfortable, it was still a carriage, and its occupants were prone to the small annoyances that traveling inside of one brought.

She alighted from the carriage, pulling her pelisse tight around her as there was a swift breeze. They had stopped in the scrubby dirt courtyard of a little road-side inn, that backed onto a copse of trees, and beyond it, a meadow where a few fat and lazy cows munched in the grass. Chickens pecked across the dirt, and the inn was little more than an extension onto what must've been the innkeeper's house, although it looked likely enough.

"There's chicken for luncheon," Mrs. Gardiner said as she puffed up to Elizabeth with a smile on her face. She was followed by a noisy duck who was trying to nip at her skirts. "Oooh, nasty little creature," Mrs. Gardiner said, but it was with affection for the little thing as it attempted again to clamp its bill around the hem of her skirts.

Elizabeth smiled and made her way across the yard to the entrance to the small inn. She ducked under the doorway, it was an older building by the looks of it, and was welcomed inside.

A cheery room greeted her, with brightly scrubbed wooden floors, and mirrored lanterns. There were small windows with the shutters thrown open to the light outside, and single long, low trestle table with rounded stools along it for eating. Mr. Darcy was standing beside it, talking to the innkeeper, a portly man who nodded after every other word.

"Yessir, Mr. Darcy, right as soon as my Elsa can have the pot pie up. A short ale for yourself, and barley water for the ladies?" he asked, looking past Mr. Darcy to Elizabeth, and her aunt who had come in behind her.

Mr. Darcy nodded and the innkeeper bustled off through the door that must have lead to the kitchen, likely a room that the inn shared with the little house off the side of it. There was a clatter of pots, and then the door swung closed.

Mr. Darcy smiled as Elizabeth approached him.

"Perhaps not the finest of dining experiences," he said, looking apprehensively at her.

"Oh no, do not say that Mr. Darcy. It is quite charming, and very acceptable to me," she said as she looked around. For while it was small, it was clean, with a new-swept hearth and fire crackling away in it. She had no reason to turn her nose up at such an honest, if humble, place to eat.

"Your uncle and I stay at such places when we travel," Mrs. Gardiner said, "when there's no finer to be had. They're small as they have everyone sleep on the floor here after the dinner is served, and while it's not much privacy, it can be quite jolly if someone has a fiddle and fancies a bit of a tune." She sat without hesitation, groaning. "Oh that carriage is lovely, Mr. Darcy, but my bones are protesting every mile, and we've so many left to go."

"I apologize for each bump," Mr. Darcy said with a smile as he and Elizabeth both took their seats as well. Elizabeth stretched her legs out under the table, relishing the ability to do so without knocking up against the seat across from her as was a problem in the carriage, or worse, possibly brushing up against Mr. Darcy.

She imagined that very thing, for a moment, and shot him a furtive look, her cheeks flushing. He did not notice her glances, and for that she was grateful. She did not want to appear in any respect a flirt, especially given the nature of their trip to Scotland. But still, she looked at Mr. Darcy from beneath her lashes and wondered about him.

Did she dare trust her new perceptions of him, when they were ever so much more favorable than the old? Just being in his presence was very calming, and she doubted she could have made the journey to Gretna Green without him. After he had saved her from that blackguard, Mr. Wickham, at the bookshop in Meryton, she'd had many quiet daydreams of him rescuing her from a variety of terrible situations that made her think that she ought to stop reading all of the gothics that Lydia was constantly buying; they were quite clearly giving her the wrong types of ideas.

It was, more or less she thought, the problem that she and Mr. Darcy had not had an opportunity to discuss the conversation at the bookstore, the one in which he proposed to her mere moments after Mr. Wickham had attempted to take liberties with her.

The innkeeper interrupted her thoughts as he came out with platters of food, a good ploughman's luncheon of cheese and cold meats, as well as a fine-looking roasted chicken. Her stomach growled, unreasonably hungry and not at all in tune with the desire of her mind and heart to abstain from eating, for when she was heart-sick she often wished she did not have to eat. The ride must have jogged her appetite, for she tore into her plate of food with relish, and made a small noise of pleasure as the salted ham melted in her mouth.

Mr. Darcy chuckled, and she looked up at him. He was smiling, one hand around his jack of ale. She swallowed, and delicately dabbed at her lips with her handkerchief.

"Yes, Mr. Darcy?" she asked, although she had a suspicion it was the manner in which she ate her food that caused him amusement.

"It is just a joy to see someone take such pleasure from their food," he said, and then cleared his throat, his cheeks flushing. "My sister… Georgiana, has always been fond of her meals, and I thought I might never meet a lady who so delighted in a repast as she."

Well, his comment did not seem unkind, but even still, her own cheeks were blushing in return. Mrs. Gardiner washed down a hunk of cheese with a long pull of barley water, before sitting back with a sigh.

"What is life, if not to enjoy exceptional food and the company one keeps while partaking in it?" she asked. Mr. Darcy murmured his agreement with a contented noise, before applying himself to his meal again.

If they hadn't been on so awful a mission, Elizabeth mused, she would have quite enjoyed the meal.


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