Page 210 of What Change Entails

Rain freckled the carriage window. Derbyshire passed in blurred greens and grays, each mile carrying them farther from Pemberley, from Georgiana, from the drive where Mr. Darcy might even now be back at Pemberley and find them gone.

No. He would not so soon. He had said tomorrow.

Except he had left early for an estate matter. Estate matters, she had learned, did not arrange themselves around anyone’s happiness.

Mrs. Gardiner sat across from her, one hand braced against the side of the carriage as the wheels struck a rut. Her face held concern, fatigue, and the practical strain of a woman mentally arranging every consequence of their sudden departure. Mr. Gardiner rode outside for a time, preferring fresh air to the crowded carriage, though Elizabeth suspected he also wished to give his wife and nieces what privacy the journey could offer.

Lydia stirred as the carriage slowed near a posting inn.

“Are we there?”

“No,” Elizabeth said.

“Then why have we stopped?”

“To change horses.”

Lydia groaned and sat upright, her bonnet ribbons hopelessly crushed beneath one cheek. “I hate changing horses. It gives one time to remember one is still traveling.”

“That is an objection I had not considered.”

“You would if you had proper feeling.”

Elizabeth nearly smiled, though it did not last.

Lydia rubbed her eyes, then blinked toward the wet yard. Men hurried about with harnesses and lanterns. A maid appeared at the inn door with an apron over her gown. The smell of damp straw, horse, and hot food reached them when the carriage door opened.

Mrs. Gardiner leaned forward. “We shall go inside for a short while. Your uncle thinks it wise to take refreshment before continuing.”

Lydia descended first with unusual silence. Elizabeth followed, accepting the inn servant’s arm, then her aunt’s. They were shown into a private parlor where a fire had been lit too recently to warm the room properly. A table held tea, bread, cold meat, and a dish of stewed apples. Lydia stared at the food as if it had personally wronged her.

“You must eat,” Mrs. Gardiner said.

“I cannot. I am overcome.”

“You ate very well when overcome this morning.”

“That was before I was torn from Miss Darcy.”

Mrs. Gardiner’s expression softened. “Eat a little.”

Lydia took bread with tragic dignity and then added butter with less tragedy.

Elizabeth removed her gloves and warmed her hands near the fire. The room smelled faintly of smoke and wool. Rain tapped at the window. Voices came and went beyond the door, muted by wood and plaster.

After several minutes, Mrs. Gardiner left to speak with Mr. Gardiner about the horses and whether they could press on before the road worsened. Lydia abandoned her bread, crossed to Elizabeth, and stood there twisting her handkerchief.

“Lizzy.”

Elizabeth turned from the fire. “Yes?”

Lydia’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

That, more than anything, alarmed Elizabeth.

“Lydia?”

Her sister dropped into the chair beside her with a thump utterly at odds with the solemnity of her face. “I miss Mr. Darcy.”