Page 5 of Elizabeth in Scotland (Elizabeth and Darcy Abroad #2)

The journey north had been eventful in the best of ways.

Though Mr Bennet had travelled as a young man, Elizabeth had never been as far north as the border.

When they crossed over into Scottish territory, she was sure she had never seen anything as beautiful as the view from the carriage windows.

It did not matter that it rained most every day.

The rains left the land floating with mists that were sure to carry the famed will-o’-the-wisps she had read about in fairy stories and Gothic novels.

It seemed the whole countryside was poised for romance and adventure.

After two weeks of travel, she was coming to have a new respect and affection for the Scottish Highlands and the people. They had stopped in Edinburgh briefly, and while it was a lovely city, it had been the quaint Scottish villages that truly captured her fancy.

They were a proud people, but kind in their way.

And full of courage. She could have listened to them talk for ages and never tired of their lilting speech.

After Edinburgh, they had taken the ferry across the Firth of Forth and continued due north.

Though the countryside grew wilder and wilder as they travelled farther away from Edinburgh, there was a small village only a stone’s throw from Strathalt House.

Better still, the house was located at the very shores of Loch Ness.

“There it is,” her father breathed as they left the last buildings of the village behind them and neared the house. When they pulled up alongside the steps leading up to the house, they were greeted by a stately older woman dressed in a practical black woollen gown.

Elizabeth was handed down by the coachman. She gave him a wordless bow of thanks before greeting the woman. “How do you do?”

“Quite well, Miss, thank you. I am Mrs Graham, the housekeeper here at Strathalt House. Allow me to welcome you,” she said in a thick Scottish accent that thrilled and charmed Elizabeth.

“I am pleased to meet you, Mrs Graham. This is my father, Mr Bennet,” she said as her father climbed slowly out of the carriage.

Her father grunted, his bones no doubt sore from the bumpy ride. “How do you do, Mrs Graham?”

“Very well, thank you. I hope your journey was not too uncomfortable?”

Her father opened his mouth to answer, no doubt with reassurances that they were well up to the task.

Before he could say a word, a large dog came lumbering toward them.

The Scottish deerhound looked to be at least seven stone.

Had Elizabeth not taken the precaution of crouching and stretching out a hand to meet his joyful, bouncing advance, she would surely have been knocked over.

“My goodness, who is this?” Elizabeth asked, gleefully petting the creature.

He raised his head as if to ask for more scratches behind his ear, then sat on his horse-like haunches at her feet, leaning against her legs for support and nearly knocking her over.

He panted with pleasure as she rested her hand on his head.

“Ah, that is Bruce. You’ll have to forgive him, deary. He thinks he’s a lap dog, don’t you now?” Mrs Graham laughed. “Go on, Brucey. You’re making a nuisance of yourself.”

“Oh, no, he is not,” Elizabeth said with a smile. The dog bumped against her again, wagging his tail profusely and panting loudly.

“Well, he is a sweet creature, but his master, Mr Campbell, has no proper control over him, as you can see.” She waved at Bruce and clicked her tongue in disapproval. “He lets him get away with everything. It ought not to be for a hunting hound, if you ask me.”

Elizabeth patted the hound’s head. Bruce soon calmed down, lying at her feet as if he had known her all his life.

“Well, you must be exhausted from your journey. Allow me to take you on a brief tour of the house and grounds, and then I am sure you’ll want to rest.”

They followed Mrs Graham into the house and were shown the library, drawing room, and dining room.

Then she took them out onto the terrace at the rear of the house to see the modest gardens.

Though done in a simple style very different from the formal gardens Elizabeth had viewed at estates such as Netherfield, they nearly took her breath away.

Any greater formality could only have been a detraction, for the natural beauty of the Scottish Highlands spoke for itself.

When they came back inside, her father seemed pleased with the good condition of the house and where it was situated, just a brief walk from Loch Ness.

“This would make a superb home for you, Lizzy, and for your mother and sisters, if it comes to that.” He looked around the foyer as Mrs Graham took them back the way they had come.

“And it will not be under an entail,” he added.

“Well now, I suggest you both take a brief rest, and I shall find Mr Campbell and let him know you are here. I shall ring the gong when tea is ready to be served. Mr Campbell usually stops in at that time to see if any of the heirs have arrived, so you can meet him then. Is that agreeable to you, Mr Bennet?” she asked.

“Yes, very adequate,” he agreed. “Thank you.”

They were then shown to rooms on the second floor of the stone house.

Her father said goodbye to her across the hall, then went to sleep, no doubt.

But Elizabeth was too awestruck and excited to sleep.

The chamber was large compared to her room back at Longbourn, with several windows that faced east, in full view of the loch.

It was like she was living someone else’s life.

She stepped into the room and took a moment to let it all sink in.

Its charm did not dull on closer inspection.

The stone walls were covered in tapestries, and there was a large carpet covering the stone floor.

The four-poster bed looked to have been hand-carved many centuries before and was covered in a tartan bedspread.

It was rustic compared with the refined standards that her mother loved so well, but it appealed to Elizabeth’s sensibilities.

It was just what she would have expected to find in one of her Gothic novels, where so many fantastical adventures occurred.

Elizabeth walked over to the window, where a seat was nestled below the glass panes, one of the few new features in the old house, it would seem.

She sat down on the window seat cushion, which was plush and comfortable — a pleasant surprise.

Mr Campbell must be a highly capable manager, for in the hands of a less skilled man, the house would surely have been run down and ill-kept.

Yet Elizabeth had rarely been in so comfortable a house, or in one she liked so well.

A cheery fire burned in the large hearth, and despite the room being made of stone, it was not chilly in the slightest.

She sighed contentedly, looking out of the window at the loch only a few hundred yards away.

That was what made the room so charming — the view of the Scottish Highlands.

Indeed, she felt her creative senses heightened as she took it all in.

Perhaps she would try her hand at writing a novel of her own instead of just reading them.

Of course, she would never see it published. That was hardly something for a gentlewoman to do. But it could not hurt to keep it for her own amusement and sense of accomplishment.

After several minutes, she went over to the bed and lay on top of the woollen coverlet.

Much as she hated to admit it, she was tired from the journey.

It had been a long two weeks, constantly bumping along in the carriage.

Not wanting her father to question whether he had done the right thing in bringing her with him, Elizabeth had refused to complain.

She had read her books and enjoyed the changing scenery.

Now, she was finally here. All that was left was to see if her father would inherit the house and lands and save them all from ruin.

She turned over on her side and was soon asleep. She did not stir until her father knocked on her door, calling her name gently from without.

Elizabeth awoke and pushed herself up off the bed, padding across the room to open the door. “Ah, Lizzy, you look rather tired. Mr Campbell is here, but if you would rather continue with your rest, I can see him alone.”

“No, please, I would like to come,” Elizabeth said. She turned, going to a full-length mirror near the hearth and smoothing down her skirts. She righted her bun at the nape of her neck, then joined her father in the hall. “I am ready.”

It was such a relief that she need not put on airs here at Strathalt.

Surely the other heir, whoever he was, would not think the less of her for being simply dressed — not when they had all travelled so far.

It was not as if she were unkempt, anyway, only less formally attired than she would have been in London, where such importance was placed on status.

When they arrived in the drawing room, only one man was waiting for them.

Elizabeth looked at him curiously. This, surely, must be Mr Ewan Campbell.

He was tall — very tall — with broad shoulders and an upright posture.

His head was crowned with a shock of deep red hair and ornamented with incredibly blue eyes.

He was a handsome man, to be sure, his spectacles making him look distinguished.

He smiled as they were shown into the room. “Mr Bennet, I presume?” he greeted. “And this charming young lady?”

Elizabeth’s father bowed, then turned to introduce her. “This is my second eldest daughter, Miss Elizabeth Bennet. I hope I do not offend in bringing her as my companion, but I found I could not dream of leaving her behind,” her father explained.

“On the contrary, Mr Bennet. I am delighted that you have both come,” Mr Campbell said and offered Elizabeth his hand. She placed hers in his bear-like palm, and he raised it to his lips.