The Carriage Ride

by Mary Lydon Simonsen

  The Carriage Ride

  A Pride and Prejudice

  Short Story

  Mary Lydon Simonsen

  Quail Creek Publishing, LLC

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  The characters and events in this novella are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and is not intended by the author.

  Published by Quail Creek Publishing, LLC

  Peoria, Arizona

  quailcreekpub@hotmail.com

  www.austenvariations.com

  ©2018 Quail Creek Publishing, LLC

  Cover image: I-stock #666480092

  The Carriage Ride

  Elizabeth stared out the window of her bedroom in Hunsford Parsonage, her gaze following the contours of the long drive leading to the storied Rosings Park, home to Lady Catherine de Bourgh, aunt of Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, Lizzy’s spurned suitor. With thoughts of home and the comfort she would find at Longbourn, she was thankful that the day of her departure from Hunsford had arrived. It had now been six weeks since her arrival in Kent and one week since Mr. Darcy had placed his letter in her hand.

  Yes, the letter! That awful missive! If Mr. Darcy’s intention was to insult and belittle, then he has succeeded, Lizzy thought as she folded the letter and placed it in her reticule, the stiffness of the paper tugging at the seams of the bag.

  Mixed in with every drop of ink of Mr. Darcy’s letter was the disdain with which he now held her, and the thought that she had provoked such an angry rebuttal left her with a profound sense of unease. Lizzy now knew that Mr. Darcy’s letter, which had, on the one hand, confirmed his arrogance and pride, had also exposed her unrelenting prejudice against him. With each re-reading of the letter—and there had been at least a dozen of them—there had been additional revelations of just how blind she had been to her own bias against the Master of Pemberley.

  In an attempt to dislodge all thoughts of Mr. Darcy and his scribblings, Lizzy closed her eyes and shook her head as if such an action could purge her mind of all unpleasant thoughts. Because she would have four hours on her journey to London from Kent to contemplate the letter’s contents, now was not the time for such thoughts. Now was the time for farewells.

  Mr. Collins’s adieu was as expected. The parson reminded Lizzy of the honor that had been bestowed on her as a result of her visit to the Parsonage. To prove his point, he reminded his guest that she had dined at Rosings at least eight times and had enjoyed tea there twice. Obviously, such notice was a result of Lady Catherine’s high regard for her curate and his choice of wife. The inference was that all this—the Parsonage, the splendid park, access to the manor house and Her Ladyship—could have been Lizzy’s if only she had said “yes” to his proposal.

  “My dear cousin, you may carry a very favorable report of us into Hertfordshire,” Mr. Collins said as they made their way down the path to the carriage. “The neighborhood, as well as your dear parents, will be eager for news of how well we prosper in our corner of Kent. Although our abode is humble when compared to Rosings Park,” he said with a sweep of his hand in the manor’s direction, “we do not lack for fine furnishings ourselves.”

  Oh dear! Mr. Collins is going to mention either the sideboard or the fireplace with its carved fender.

  “One merely has to look at the fireplace to see the pains taken with the refurbishment of the Parsonage, all under the direction of my patroness, the esteemed Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”

  Lizzy knew of Lady Catherine’s interest in all things great and small. It was not unusual, when in the village, for Charlotte to have news that Her Ladyship had inquired as to purchases made by Mrs. Collins at the various shops. On one occasion, when the grande dame had learned that Mrs. Collins had purchased three cucumbers from the green grocer, she had demanded that the Parsonage’s garden be expanded to include the gourd as such purchases were an unnecessary extravagance, declaring, “Beets will do.”

  After assuring Mr. Collins that she would enthusiastically report to family and friends the high regard Lady Catherine held for her parson and his wife, and the benefits of such notice, including descriptions of the “fine furnishings and carved fender,” Lizzy turned to Charlotte. As they walked toward the carriage, the two ladies locked arms, and Charlotte assured Lizzy, once again—as it was clear that she was in need of such assurance—that she was quite content with her situation at Hunsford Parsonage. Her only regret was that her dearest friend lived so far away. In consideration of Mr. Collins’s declaration that his responsibilities to his parish and his patroness demanded his presence in Kent, Charlotte feared that it would be a very long time before she would once again see her childhood friend.

  “Lizzy, you look so worried. I promise you that I am fine. If you look past the challenges,” Charlotte said while glancing in her husband’s direction, “you would see the benefits of my situation. I am now the mistress of my own home, and that alone makes up for the…for the inconveniences of marriage, and despite Lady Catherine’s flaws, she does set a very fine table!” she said, patting her stomach.

  With that attempt at levity, Lizzy squeezed her friend’s hand. Although everything Charlotte said was true, it was impossible to ignore the fact that her husband was a fawning fool, guilty of the most sycophantic behavior, but on that subject, she would remain forever silent.

  Her journey from Hunsford to London had been arranged by Uncle Gardiner, older brother to Mrs. Bennet, and the carriage sent by her uncle had arrived at the Parsonage early that morning. The driver, Phelps, a gruff, muscled mass of a man, stood beside the carriage awaiting his passenger. With the last of the farewells made, Lizzy was off to London.

  * * *

  The first leg of the journey from Hunsford to The Bell, a coaching inn at Bromley, was uneventful, and while the driver saw to the horses and partook of a midday meal, Lizzy enjoyed the contents of a basket that Charlotte’s cook had prepared for her that morning. After finishing her meal, Lizzy exited the inn’s courtyard to enjoy the view of a pasture filled with grazing ewes with their lambs nearby. It was a perfect idyll that chased away all thoughts of any unpleasantness that had lingered from her time in Hunsford. For a few blissful moments, all was right with the world.

  After several minutes of heavenly contemplation, Lizzy turned to make her way back to the inn because, by this time, Phelps would have finished his meal. It was with utter astonishment that she found herself looking at Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, and from the expression on his face, the surprise was mutual.

  “Miss Bennet!” a stunned Darcy exclaimed.

  “Mr. Darcy,” Lizzy mumbled. “How is it… But you are supposed to be… Were you not to go to London?”

  “Yes, that was the plan,” Darcy said whilst removing his hat and bowing, “but on the day of my departure from Rosings, I received word that my cousin, Lady Emily, Colonel Fitzwilliam’s sister, was at Briarwood, the ancestral Fitzwilliam estate here in Kent.”

  “Is that unusual… I mean for Lady…”

  “…Emily.”

  “…for Lady Emily to visit Bri
arwood?”

  She knew that she sounded like a stuttering fool, but at this moment, coherence of thought eluded her.

  “Yes, actually it is a rare event as Emily lives in County Galway.” Darcy added that Galway was in Ireland.

  “Yes, I know,” Lizzy said with a chuckle. She may not have been educated under the guidance of a governess or scholar, but that did not mean she was geographically ignorant.

  “As I had not seen my cousin in years, I decided I would visit with her before heading back to London. I left Briarwood at first light. All was well until the carriage went over an obstacle in the road, resulting in a damaged axle. It took most of the morning and quite the effort just to get the carriage to the blacksmith for repairs.”

  “I am sorry to hear of your misfortune, Mr. Darcy. If I understand you correctly, you have been here all morning?”

  “Yes, all morning, and it is very likely that I shall be here most of the afternoon as I have just been informed that the front wheel is bent and that must be seen to as well.”

  Darcy inquired as to Lizzy’s destination, and when told that she was bound for London, he expressed envy that she would be in town in two hours’ time.

  A thought immediately entered Lizzy’s mind. She was in a position to rescue Mr. Darcy from his dilemma. Such an act would, perhaps, provide an opportunity to replace in Mr. Darcy’s mind the ferocious Elizabeth Bennet who had so vociferously declined his offer of marriage.

  “But it is not necessary that you remain here, Mr. Darcy. Please allow me to offer you a seat in my uncle’s carriage. There is no reason for you to mill about a coaching inn all day when there is room in my conveyance. All I need do is consult Phelps, the driver, and he will most certainly agree to such a reasonable request.”

  Darcy thanked Lizzy but declined the offer, protesting that it would be an inconvenience, but when, after repeated assurances from Lizzy that that was not the case, he continued to refuse her offer, it became apparent that Mr. Darcy had no wish to be in her company—thus the reason for his refusal.

  From the look on Elizabeth’s face, Darcy understood that he had given offense where none had been intended. “I appreciate the offer, Miss Elizabeth, but I seriously doubt that you wish to be cooped up in a carriage for two hours with me.”

  Lizzy shook her head. “Mr. Darcy, I know we have had our disagreements—some quite serious—but I hope that has not made us enemies.”

  “I can assure you that you are the very last person I would wish to have as an enemy.” Lizzy raised an eyebrow. “You are too able an adversary.”

  Lizzy blushed, unsure if it was compliment or censure. “Mr. Darcy, I am for London—with or without you.” Lizzy turned and faced in the direction of her uncle’s carriage. “It is, of course, not as fine a carriage as yours, but I can assure you that it is better than a Royal Mail coach, your only other option at this time.”

  Darcy smiled. “Your inference is that I have never ridden in a Royal Mail coach, but there you are wrong.”

  In response to Lizzy’s skeptical look, Darcy explained that it would hardly be his first experience in such a conveyance. After safely delivering his son to Cambridge, Mr. Darcy’s father had left instructions with the young Fitzwilliam that he should make use of hackney cabs and sedans to get around Cambridge as he had done during his own time at the university, and if a longer journey proved necessary, the Royal Mail provided excellent service.

  “In my years at Cambridge, I frequently rode in a Royal Mail coach, and as a result, I know that I do not wish to repeat the experience. Thus, I accept your kind offer.”

  At that time, Lizzy and Darcy went in search of Phelps who was just coming out of the inn. When Lizzy explained the situation, the driver frowned. He did not see Darcy as a person in need of assistance but, rather, as extra baggage, added weight that would lengthen the time he would spend on the road. After looking Darcy up and down and taking note of his fine travelling clothes, Phelps responded, “I’ve got no room for a lord’s luggage.”

  “The lord’s luggage will follow,” Darcy said, hiding a smile. “The only extra weight will be me.”

  Another challenge from Phelps: “I leave in fifteen minutes.”

  “I am ready now,” Darcy said, feigning the look of a chastened schoolboy. “I need only tell my man what I am doing.”

  Once out of earshot of the unhappy driver, Lizzy attempted to explain Phelps’s brusque manner. “My Uncle Gardiner is a coffee broker in London, and when he goes down to the docks, Mr. Phelps acts as his bodyguard. As you can tell, he is more muscle than manners.”

  Darcy laughed and stated that he never argued with a man with no neck and hands the size of plates and declared that if Mr. Gardiner were a coffee broker then he must be a rich man. “I imagine I have made a considerable contribution to your uncle’s coffers.”

  Lizzy wrinkled her nose. “As much as I would like to support my uncle’s business ventures, I find coffee too bitter for my taste.”

  “Then you have not tried Sumatran coffee. It has a more robust flavor than Brazilian and is less acidic.”

  “Sir, I see that you have a discriminating palette, but such knowledge is lost on me. My preference will always be for tea.”

  Darcy stopped talking. Why on earth am I standing next to the woman I love talking about Sumatran versus Brazilian coffee? She must think me a fool.

  At that time, Mercer, Darcy’s manservant, approached to inform his master of the status of the carriage’s repairs. According to the blacksmith, it would be at least another three to four hours, at the earliest, before they could resume their journey. Noting Mercer’s quizzical look regarding his companion, Darcy introduced Elizabeth.

  “Mercer, this is Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn in Hertfordshire.”

  “Miss Elizabeth Bennet! From Hertfordshire!” a wide-eyed Mercer exclaimed.

  “Yes, Mercer,” Darcy said in a tone meant to tamp down Mercer’s excessive response to the introduction. “Miss Elizabeth is on her way to London after visiting with her friend, Mrs. Collins, at the Hunsford Parsonage and has generously offered me a seat in her uncle’s carriage.”

  “You and Miss Elizabeth… In the same carriage… Well, I’ll be—”

  “Mercer!” Darcy quickly interjected. “A lady is present.”

  Despite the rebuke, what had been a big smile on Mercer’s face became an impossibly bigger one. “Answered prayers, sir. Answered prayers and changed hearts!”

  “Thank you, Mercer,” Darcy said, dismissing his servant. Darcy, who managed to look both amused and annoyed, reminded Mercer that there was a carriage to be looked after.

  As Mercer walked in the direction of the smithy, Lizzy’s eyes followed him. Was Mercer implying that he had been praying for her—that he was hoping that she had had a change of heart? If that were true, then Mr. Darcy had confided to his valet the drama that had taken place at the Parsonage. She could hardly believe that a man as proud as Mr. Darcy would share details of that humiliating scene. She could hardly think of it without embarrassment, and she had not been the one who had been rejected. But if it were true, then it revealed much about Mr. Darcy: Her harsh words had greatly wounded the gentlemen, and in his most hurtful hour, he had turned to his faithful servant for comfort. Lizzy’s reverie was broken by the sound of Mr. Darcy’s voice.

  Darcy explained Mercer’s remarks about “answered prayers” and “changed hearts” by sharing his servant’s decision to leave the Church of England in order to follow the teachings of John Wesley. Following his conversion, Mercer was exhibiting all the enthusiasm of a new convert.

  “Mercer became a Methodist about a year ago—just about the time he made the acquaintance of a woman from a village near to Pemberley. The Widow Locke is a seamstress who comes to the manor house about once a quarter to repair sheets, clothing, uniforms, anything requiring needle and thread. Despite the widow’s manifest attractions, Mercer’s conversion is sincere—a significant change for a bachelor who favored w
oman all over the country with his attention during his time as a Royal Mail driver.”

  Lizzy chose not to be distracted by the anecdote. Her mind was firmly focused on Mercer’s comment about “changed hearts.”

  “It is obvious to me that Mr. Mercer believes in the power of prayer.”

  “Yes, he does,” Darcy answered, a hint of hopefulness inching into his voice. “Let us hope that he is correct.”

  Here was another cryptic statement from Mr. Darcy. Was he hoping that she would have a change of heart? That her refusal of his offer of marriage was mutable? Oh, what a complex man Mr. Darcy is! The more I am in his company, the less I know about him.

  “We had best join Phelps,” Lizzy said, eager to start on their journey. “He has no patience for tardiness and is not shy about letting you know when he is unhappy.”

  “Before we join Phelps—before we embark for London—I would ask one favor.”

  “And that is?”

  “That we not discuss the contents of my letter.”

  Lizzy, feeling the heat rising in her face, quickly agreed. The less said about the letter secured in her reticule, the better.

  “I have had many regrets in my life,” Darcy continued, “but one of the most profound is writing that letter.”

  Not knowing how to respond, Lizzy answered with a nod as if she understood the reason for his regrets, but she did not. Did Mr. Darcy regret the sentiments expressed in his letter or was he embarrassed that he had laid bare his soul in writing it? So many questions with no answers to satisfy.

  At that point, the barrel-chested Phelps summoned his passengers to the carriage, and as soon as the occupants were in their seats, they were off to London.

  * * *

  Once settled in the carriage, Lizzy immediately became aware of the forced intimacy of such a confined space. Even if she had wished to avoid looking at the gentleman, it was impossible to do so because, with Mr. Darcy’s long legs, they were practically touching. In fact, she was so close to him that she could see that Mr. Darcy’s brown eyes had flecks of green in them—something she had previously failed to note. From his time in Hertfordshire, she already had confirmation of his imposing figure and put his height at about six-foot-two, and every inch of it was superbly muscled. He had extremely fine calves, evidence of an equestrian, and broad shoulders. She had never doubted that Mr. Darcy was a fine specimen of a man. But on closer inspection, he was even better looking and well formed than previously allowed, and with each glance, she felt her pulse quicken and the heat rise in her face.