Page 33 of To Love And To Cherish (Pride And Prejudice Variation #3)
It was a bright morning in May, the kind that carried the freshness of dew and the soft perfume of blossoms. The trees were dressed in tender new leaves, and the hedgerows were adorned with wildflowers in full bloom.
Elizabeth settled into the travelling coach beside Ancilla and across from Mary, finding the day most agreeable for a long journey.
The landscape, with its undulating green fields and flowering hedgerows, was beautiful to behold, though, alas, not every traveler was equally delighted.
Miss King, who had been uncommonly silent since they left the posting house at dawn, now pressed her gloved hands together in her lap and gave a tremulous sigh.
“I do not know what I shall do,” she said suddenly, her voice high and thin. “What if I do not like the man Uncle wishes me to marry?”
Elizabeth looked up from her book, eyeing her companion with a mixture of sympathy and curiosity. Mary’s fair features were drawn tight with worry, and her lips trembled as though she might cry. She had never been a girl given to deep reflection, but this, evidently, was different.
Miss Trent, ever calm, folded her hands atop her reticule. “Can you tell us about him? What is his name? His character?”
Mary blinked. “I’ve never met him. I’ve nothing to tell.”
Elizabeth, suppressing a smile, tried another tack. “Do you know his name at least? His age? What does he do for a living?”
Mary drew a deep breath, as though bracing herself to recite a particularly vexing piece of French grammar. “His name is Adam Frazier and he is nine-and-twenty.”
Her face crumpled in despair. “He is positively ancient.”
Elizabeth bit her tongue. Well, she thought wryly, at least he is not two-and-fifty, like the gentleman Mamma once considered for Jane. Out loud, she said gently, “And what does he do?”
Mary paused, fumbled in her reticule, and pulled forth a much-folded letter. “I cannot remember, but I believe Uncle Allistair wrote it here somewhere.”
She flattened the page across her skirts and scanned it. “Ah. He has, no, not a manor, a castle. He inherited it from his father four years ago, and now he must marry and produce an heir.”
Her lower lip wobbled. “What if he is very grave and sour? I do not think I could bear to speak to such a man, much less marry him and bear his children.”
Miss Trent reached across and took Mary’s hand. “Your uncle has said there is no engagement. You will meet Mr. Frazier and spend time getting to know one another. If at the end of six months you find no affection between you, the match may be refused.”
Elizabeth took Mary’s other hand. “It is only a meeting, Mary. An opportunity to make an acquaintance, not a binding contract.”
Mary sniffed and gave a faint nod.
“Do you know where in Scotland this castle is located?” Elizabeth asked.
Mary blinked at her as though she had asked her to recite Greek, but then returned to the letter. “Yes, Uncle wrote it here. Castle Roy 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 The Crown, 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.