Page 60 of To Love And To Cherish
Mary blinked at her as though she had asked her to recite Greek, but then returned to the letter. “Yes, Uncle wrote it here. CastleRoy is located in a place called Carrbridge. There is a river... the Dulnain, I think.”
Elizabeth reached for her travel guide and thumbed through the index. “Carrbridge,” she murmured. “Yes, here it is.”
She began to read aloud. “Carrbridge is surrounded by the ancient Caledonian pinewood. In addition to the forests, there are moorlands, mountains, and many woodland trails. The River Dulnain runs through the forest.”
Her eyes twinkled. “Mary, it sounds like an excellent place to settle and raise a family.”
Mary’s face brightened. “It does sound lovely, Elizabeth. Please read more.”
So the miles passed with cheerful discourse, the young women peering out the windows at passing fields, hills dotted with sheep, and the occasional sleepy hamlet. Mary, soothed by their company and reassurances, became more animated and spoke freely of her childhood, her love for cut glassware, and her dislike of embroidery.
At midday, they stopped at a clean and modest hostelry to water the horses and take a meal. The mutton stew was plain but hearty, and the fire in the common room a welcome balm against the evening chill.
After the meal, the coachman entered with an air of urgency. “Miss Trent, if we wish to reach the Crown before nightfall, we must be on the road within the quarter-hour.”
The three ladies gathered their wraps and reticules and returned to the carriage. The countryside grew wilder as they progressed, and the twilight painted the world in hues of plum and ash. At last, as night threatened to fall in earnest, they reached TheCrown, a solid coaching inn with cheerful lamplight glowing from its windows.
Their room was modest but clean, with a wide feather bed and a smaller cot in the corner. The sight of the sleeping arrangements gave rise to laughter. The large bed would hold two, but the little cot wedged in the corner appeared made for a child and could scarcely accommodate an adult.
“Well, ladies,” said Miss Trent with mock solemnity, “I shall take the cot tonight. Tomorrow, we draw straws, and the short straw gets the privilege.”
Elizabeth giggled. “Very well, my friend. We shall draw straws.”
Mary, now much recovered, flopped onto the bed and sighed. “If the rest of Scotland is as agreeable as this bed, I shall be very contented.”
And so ended the first day of their journey to Carrbridge, by way of Dava Moor, with hearts lighter than they had been that morning, and the promise of adventure still before them.
Chapter 32: The Dinner Party
Darcy took Richard's counsel to heart. The very next morning, he penned a note to his aunt, Lady Helen, politely informing her that he would postpone his return to Pemberley for a fortnight. He hoped, he said, that she might arrange a dinner during that interval, one in which he might become acquainted with the seven young ladies she had previously praised to him. He further explained that he wished to meet them in a calm, private setting, form initial impressions, and then take the summer and autumn to reflect before narrowing his interest to the two or three most promising candidates in the winter.
Lady Helen, who had been champing at the bit since her nephew's arrival in town, fairly quivered with delight upon receipt of the missive. She immediately began preparations for the dinner, setting it for Thursday of the following week. A list of the seven families was drawn up, invitations dispatched, menus composed, and seating arrangements debated over tea.
Meanwhile, at Darcy House, preparations for the move north to Pemberley were underway. They were to depart the day after the dinner. Georgiana remained quiet, her spirits still unsettled. The peace of Derbyshire called to them both, but duty first demanded one final ordeal in town.
On the evening of the event, Darcy arrived at Matlock House in ample time. He was clad in a fine black tailcoat, a forest green waistcoat, and an elegantly tied cravat; his pantaloons perfectly fitted. Lady Helen, upon seeing him, declared with a laugh that he looked like a fashion plate.
The drawing room soon filled with guests, families familiar from Assembly rooms and Almack's, yet, owing to his years abroad, none with whom Darcy had ever been intimately acquainted. The young women, some newly out, others in their third season, were each presented in turn.
As was proper, Darcy began with polite conversation while the party waited to be called into dinner. He drew Miss Emily Fitzgerald into conversation. She was comely in both face and form, her eyes the clear, cool blue of the summer sky.
“Mr. Darcy,” she said, offering her gloved hand with graceful composure, “I understand you are soon removing to your estate in Derbyshire. You must be relieved to be finished with the Season. It is such an exhausting parade of alliances and strategies."
He inclined his head. "I do find the social obligations taxing at times. But I hope they serve some higher purpose."
"Oh, certainly. My mother says marriages must be arranged with careful precision, like treaties. Dowry, pedigree, expectations, it is all arithmetic."
Darcy's brows lifted. "And affection? Is that not a consideration?"
Her smile faltered. "Affection is a luxury, Mr. Darcy. One cannot base a match upon whimsy."
He took her gloved hand and asked evenly. "How many children do you hope for, Miss Fitzgerald?"
“Two, an heir and a spare. You may think me bold, Mr. Darcy, for speaking so plainly, yet we both know this dinner to be but an extension of the marriage mart, and I would make my wishes known to you. My husband may, of course, keep a mistress, asis customary in the higher circles, and I should never object, provided he exercised the utmost discretion. Indeed, it is my preference, for I should wish to avoid the baser propensities of physical union.”
“I believe in fidelity within marriage,” Darcy said, his tone even. “I do not intend to take a mistress once I am joined in holy matrimony."
She blinked at him. "Then we shall not suit, Mr. Darcy."
