Page 11 of Visiting Miss Austen (Miss Austen #2)

There were two good things about the journey to the castle: First, it was only three hours away. Three hours was close enough to Bath that I could organise an escape at short notice if I needed to .

Second, Mr Hart did not travel in his carriage with us for propriety’s sake but rode next to it on his horse. However, I soon discovered this was not an advantage. As the afternoon grew warm, he took off his riding coat, flinging it over the pommel. This meant his backside, clearly outlined in his fitted breeches, rose up and down on the saddle as he trotted along; and the sight was somewhat distracting. Lucinda also seemed rather interested in the scenery as she kept leaning over me to peer out until I pulled the curtain across smartly, blocking both our views, saying the sun was in my eyes.

‘But what if Mr Hart wishes to say something to us?’ she grumbled.

‘I cannot imagine what he would have to say about the fields. I’m sure if he has some pressing insight about ploughing, it can wait until we reach the castle. ’

Jane snickered, and it was only after I said it that I realised the double entendre. But it stiffened my resolve further to protect Lucinda from any ploughing Mr Hart might have in mind.

However, after what felt like many more hours of being jolted around inside the airless carriage than just three, I finally succumbed to my nausea and knocked on the roof. There was a ‘Whoa, boy!’ from outside, and the carriage came to a halt.

Yanking the curtain aside, I lowered the window and spoke directly to the gentleman, with Lucinda elbowing me aside to make room for her too. ‘Forgive me for asking, Mr Hart, but how much longer is it?’

He drew his watch out of his waistcoat pocket and looked at it. ‘Not too much further. How do you fare?’ he enquired. ‘There is a copse beside the road if you need another comfort stop.’

‘No, I do not—’

‘Well, I do,’ said Lucinda, opening the door before I could stop her. She jumped down to greet Mr Hart, who was descending from his horse.

‘Do you want to come with us?’ I asked Jane, but she declined. By the time I had put on my bonnet and alighted from the carriage, Lucinda and Mr Hart had strolled off together down the road .

Of course, that would not do as Mr Hart could not accompany her to the trees!

‘Lucinda! Lucinda! ’ I called out sharply. ‘Wait for me, please!’

‘I have changed my mind, Aunty Fliss. But you go ahead, and I will converse with Mr Hart while we wait for you.’

I opened my mouth and shut it again. The sneaky little minx !

When I returned from the trees, the pair of them were nowhere in sight. Panicking, I raced back to the carriage, calling out, ‘Jane! Did you see where they went? I swear, this blasted trip will be the death ... Oh.’

Lucinda and Mr Hart were now ensconced in the carriage with Jane, and they had all been discussing something in an animated fashion, which ceased when I appeared.

‘Never mind,’ I muttered and walked off a short way to compose myself.

I turned around to find that Mr Hart had stepped down from the carriage and followed me. ‘Is everything all right, Mrs Fitzroy? You seem rather agitated,’ he said mildly.

I saw he had removed not only his coat but also his cravat, and his shirt was unbuttoned at the neck. This ensemble, along with his wind-blown dark hair and the light sweat bathing his upper chest, gave him a look of roguish dishevelment, which suited him since I now knew he was one.

‘No, I am perfectly well,’ I said tightly, removing my gaze from his with an effort. ‘Are you sure we are nearly there? What is the time exactly? We seem to have been travelling all afternoon.’

Mr Hart looked at the sky, which had drifting clouds interspersed with patches of blue. ‘We will be there before sundown.’

‘Sundown? But that’s another two hours at least,’ I said, frustrated at his vague timekeeping. ‘Why did you say your castle was three hours away if it was five?’

He frowned at my tone. ‘It is three hours or thereabouts. It depends on the roads, and we were slow leaving Bath. Plus we would get there sooner if you ladies did not keep wanting to stop.’

Admittedly, we had required a comfort stop twice before now. But what did he expect when we had been bored and had nothing to do but repack our luggage and drink tea because he was late showing up at the house with his carriage?

I took a deep breath, trying to control my temper. He must have sensed I was doing so because his countenance softened.

‘Pray, is my carriage not comfortable? ’

‘It is, but I succumb easily to travel sickness,’ I explained. ‘And if we open the window, insects fly in, so there is a lack of fresh air.’

A mischievous grin crossed Mr Hart’s lips. ‘Well, if it is fresh air you require, you can always ride with me on my horse.’

I drew a breath—how impudent!

Declining to reply to that invitation, I stalked past him back to the carriage, locked the door, put up the window, and abruptly pulled the curtain. That gentleman was starting to walk a fine line between humour and inappropriateness, and if he tried anything with me, he was going to get a tongue-lashing!

As we rolled off down the road, Lucinda, knowing how long carriage rides did not agree with me, tucked her arm through mine and said gently, ‘I am sorry you are not feeling well, Aunty Fliss.’

Jane too looked at me with concern. ‘Yes, you do look a bit pale. Poor you. Luckily, I have the constitution of an ox and do not get sick, but Cassie suffers greatly.’

The carriage lurched, and I took a deep breath to try to ease my nausea and hoped I did not vomit out the window. That would give Mr Hart something to write a poem about.

‘Is there anything we can do to help? Maybe Aunt Jane can read us some of her book to take your mind off it? ’

‘That is a good idea, Lucy,’ said Jane with a smile and a nod.

Tears welled at my niece’s kindness, and I reminded myself that she did have a sensible head on her shoulders. I needed to trust that Seraphina had brought her up to know right from wrong (since Mr Hart was so very wrong!).

Jane turned to one of her marked pages and cleared her throat. ‘Oh please, do not read from The Monk ,’ I said quickly, closing my eyes as the carriage lurched again. ‘I don’t think I can bear to hear any more of that. It will only make me feel sicker.’

‘All right. I do have something else.’ She opened her writing desk, which was sitting next to her on the seat and never allowed out of her sight.‘Shall I read a passage from one of my novels? It is a romance.’

‘Ooh, yes please,’ said Lucinda. ‘I would love to hear it.’

Jane looked at me slyly. ‘Do you mind?’

‘Why would she mind?’ asked Lucinda.

‘Well ...’

The carriage swayed, and I swallowed, my mouth dry.

‘It is fine. Just read it,’ I said, feeling decidedly green. ‘I need the distraction.’

Jane coughed delicately. ‘So in this scene, our hero, Mr Darcy, proposes to our heroine, Lizzy. Keep in mind that she has taken a dislike to him because of his dour temperament and, up until this point, has had no reason to suspect his regard for her.’

Lucinda nodded enthusiastically, and I groaned inwardly. I nearly asked Jane to read a different scene but had not the strength of mind (nor stomach) to do so. And indeed, hearing Mr Darcy profess his ardent admiration for Lizzy would help to remind me of Max as it was described so well. When Jane reached Lizzy’s fervent (and, some might say, rather punishing) rejection speech, I noticed with some amusement that Lucinda was captivated by the story. She was leaning forward and hanging on to every word.

From the very beginning—from the first moment, I may almost say—of my acquaintance with you, your manners, impressing me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others, were such as to form the groundwork of disapprobation on which succeeding events have built so immovable a dislike; and I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry.

Lucinda let out a whoop. ‘Oh, she is so forthright in her derision! I imagine Mr Darcy does not take kindly to Lizzy saying that! ’

‘Indeed he does not,’ said Jane with a wry smile. ‘He thanks her for her time and gives her his best wishes for her health and happiness, then hastily leaves the house with his tail between his legs.’

Lucinda laughed out loud, and I could not help but smile too.

‘I am glad it is only a story!’ she exclaimed. ‘I am sure I would not like to meet a man like Mr Darcy in the flesh. He seems so brusque and scary!’

Jane looked at me enquiringly, and I shrugged. She may as well know since she was his niece.

‘You have met him, dear,’ said Jane. ‘He is your uncle.’

Lucinda’s mouth hung open. ‘What? Mr Darcy is Uncle Max? But that means ...’ She turned to look at me in wonderment. ‘Are you ...?’

I nodded solemnly. ‘Yes, Aunt Jane has cleverly invented a story involving your uncle and me. Of course, she has taken many liberties.’ I narrowed my eyes at Jane, and she laughed. ‘And she has not written about the more private aspects of our story.’ Aspects involving red wine that would forever remain a secret between Max and me.

As Lucinda and Jane fell into a discussion about the plot and how she had contrived to make Mr Darcy more insufferable than his counterpart, I had a strong image of Max riding his horse alone with a glum look on his face. Suddenly, I felt a terrible longing to be with him—to leap from this wretched carriage and jump on the nearest stagecoach back to Derbyshire. Thankfully, at least he knew where to write to me, and we could still correspond. I had managed to add a postscript to my letter before Mrs Bromley took it to the post office the next morning.

PS: Dearest, our circumstances have changed somewhat since I wrote the above, and we are now to take a short trip to visit Mr Hart’s castle. I do not particularly wish to go. But Lucinda and Jane are most excited about it, and I did not want to spoil their fun. Mr Hart’s father will be in attendance, as well as Jane and I, so Lucy will have chaperones in abundance! Still, it might be best not to mention the excursion to Seraphina. I will write to you from Hartmoor Castle, Love your Fliss x

***

Despite Mr Hart’s assurance that we would arrive at the castle before sundown, we did not. We rolled along in pitch darkness for quite some time before the carriage finally ground to a halt. A feeling of overwhelming relief rushed through me as it felt like I had been grappling with a gloopy stomach for hours.

‘At last,’ I said, throwing open the carriage door. Eager to alight and breathe the air, I descended and stepped directly into a pile of fresh horse droppings.

‘If only you had waited for me to assist, Mrs Fitzroy, you could have avoided that,’ Mr Hart’s amused voice drawled from behind me as I wiped my soiled boot on a clump of grass on the roadside.

‘If only we had arrived before sundown, then I could have seen where I was stepping, Mr Hart,’ I replied dryly.

He warned the others about my misfortune as he assisted them from the carriage. Lucinda emerged tired, pale-faced, and rumpled, followed by Jane, who seemed in much better spirits.

‘I am so excited to see your castle, Mr Hart,’ she said, peering into the darkness and pulling her shawl around her for warmth as there was a nippy chill in the air. ‘But pray, where is it?’

‘Just a short walk through those trees,’ he said, gesturing vaguely off to the side. ‘We will be using the back entrance.’ He collected a lantern from his driver, who was giving the horses some oats and who, I assumed, would then be delivering our luggage. But I was quickly learning it was not wise to assume anything when it came to Mr Hart.

‘Why can we not use the front entrance?’ I asked warily .

‘The door is locked from sundown to sunrise as my father does not like to receive visitors during that time. But Maurice knows we are coming and will have the fire lit in the parlour and a hot supper ready for us. This way, if you please, ladies.’

He held the lantern high and strode off down a narrow path into the trees, and we had no choice but to trail after him like lambs following their shepherd.

Indeed, the thought of a warm firelit parlour and hot supper did motivate me to start walking, so he had said the right thing.

‘Who is Maurice?’ I questioned, attempting to scrape the remnants of horse dung off the side of my boot as we went along.

‘Our butler’ was the reply. I had further questions, but his curt tone stopped me from asking them. Besides, I needed to comfort Lucinda, who was gasping every time she brushed by a twig. An owl hooted above us in the trees, and she almost jumped out of her skin.

‘I’m scared, Aunty Fliss,’ she whimpered, and I took her trembling hand in mine and held it tightly.

‘It is not much farther, dear,’ I said through gritted teeth, silently cursing Mr Hart, who strode on relentlessly in front of us through the thicket. We had to keep pace with him or else be left floundering in the darkness. I myself was not afraid of the trees or the darkness or the scurrying noises of small animals in the undergrowth, having grown up in the country. But I was becoming uneasy as to where he was leading us.

The ‘short walk’ he had described was turning into a veritable hike, and I bit my tongue in an effort to keep my complaints to myself for the sake of Lucinda and Jane. The forest was, I suspected, an ancient defence system planted around the perimeter of the castle designed to deter intruders. But Mr Hart was not an intruder nor a visitor—his family owned the castle. So it was strange that his father would not permit the opening of the front door for his own son and instead force him to use the back entrance like a servant.

We emerged from the trees a while after, and in the limited light of the lamp, I saw that I had been correct. The forest stretched away from us on either side and formed a protective barrier around the monstrosity of stone that loomed before us.

‘Ladies, I give you Hartmoor Castle,’ said Mr Hart theatrically. ‘But you will be able to see it better without the light.’ There was a ‘poof’ noise as he extinguished the gas lantern, which resulted in a collective gasp as darkness enveloped us. He chuckled softly to himself, and I got the impression he was enjoying our fear and uncertainty .

Lucinda and Jane huddled close to me, and I took a deep breath to steady my pounding heart. However, he was right. A gibbous moon hung in the sky directly overhead, and as my eyes adjusted, I saw the castle more clearly. It was indeed the one in his sketch. The turrets were there as depicted, but the moonlight also revealed stonework that was badly in need of repair. There were black gaps like missing teeth all over it. To my mind, it was more of a dilapidated ruin barely held together with mortar than what Mr Hart had drawn. His version was more like Hartmoor Castle in its heyday.

Jane, who had been clamouring to visit his castle, was not saying anything. As Mr Hart walked off towards the creepy-looking fortification, not waiting for our opinions or comments, I nudged her. ‘A bit different to his sketch, don’t you think?’

But she declined to answer, possibly grappling between the truth and politeness.

It made me think that perhaps I was being too hard on him. If this was the back entrance, perhaps the front of the castle was in a better state?