“As they seem to do generally, I believe their interests and temperaments will provide a great balance for Andrew.Jane can listen to his stories for hours with real genuine interest and concern while Elizabeth loves to read to him and can describe in such vivid detail her adventures about the grounds. He does so miss being able to get out and about.” Madeline said with some sadness lacing the hopeful anticipation in her voice. Being so attuned to her, Edward sensed this and drew her into his embrace.
“It seems so hard that he must be so limited physically when his mind is as sharp as ever.”
“Andrewwould be the first to tell you he has enjoyed life more than most and . . .”
“Probably more than he should.” They finished together with the by now very familiar saying of their elderly cousin.
“He has led a full life,” Madeline conceded. “Even if it has not been full in the way many would measure things. He has been widowed nearly fifty years and of course never had children, but he has travelled, is a beloved member of this community and has taken Barlow Hall from near bankruptcy to the thriving estate it is today.”
“We are blessed to call him family and of course to have been given the privilege of being part of Barlow Hall,” Edward said in a familiar refrain. The Gardiners were endlessly grateful not only to be named as heirs to this substantial estate but for the family which they had formed there.
Elizabeth had spent the week acquainting Jane with most, but not quite all of her favourite haunts in and around Barlow Hall. She spent as much time as she was allowed at the stables with Micah, the stablemaster, Jane usually by her side. A few weeks into their visit, they had already taken one trip into Lambton, where Jane browsed with Aunt Gardiner and Elizabeth spent the entire time at the bookstore where she alternated between perusing the shelves and sitting on the stool and chatting with Mrs. Adams, the widowed daughter of the proprietor, Mr. Wilson.
In some ways Elizabeth’s summer was like the one before, but in others it was different. The Gardiners had insisted the girls each choose an accomplishment to focus on for the summer. Consequently, Jane visited a drawing master in Lambton twice a week and a music master came to Barlow Hall three times each week to teach Elizabeth both the pianoforte and the harp.Each of the girls valued these opportunities in their own way. Jane’s way, of course was to be diligent and demonstrably grateful. Elizabeth expressed her gratitude more in fits and starts because she could not, at times, help but resent the time spent indoors when the bright sunny garden or the path to the stables, visible from where she sat plunking away, called to her.
Three weeks after their arrival, the Bennets, Gardiners and Mr. Barlow had settled quite nicely into a routine and Elizabeth had taken Jane to nearly every nook and cranny, fieldand river she had discovered the previous visit. There was one place Elizabeth had not shared with her sister, indeed had not visited it yet herself. She could hardly admit the reason for this even to herself. But she knew, though she chose not to dwell on it, that it was because she did not want to share it with anyone, even Jane. Though it did not change her actions, this made Elizabeth feel utterly wretched. Jane was the best sister, the best person, she knew. Why would she not want to share her favourite place on the estate with her? Still, despite not having an answer for this very valid question Elizabeth did not venture to her secret place until Jane was otherwise occupied.
“Are you certain you don’t want me to sit with you?” Elizabeth asked her sister and Mr. Barlow. They had just settled the elderly man in his favourite chair with his favourite blanket in the sunroom, his favourite room. It faced east and had a view of the flower gardens as well as the home woods beyond. Jane was going to read him a selection of Shakespeare’s sonnets as per his request. Though Elizabeth had sat with them each day thus far when Jane read to Mr. Barlow, she did hope that they would tell her she need not stay today. This was a little because she did not particularly enjoy Shakespeare’s sonnets, no offence to Shakespeare; Elizabeth did not care for sonnets or poetry of any kind. She preferred stories of adventure and sometimes, lately, gothic tales seasoned with both adventure and romance. The larger reason was Elizabeth’s desire to walk about on her own. They assured her that though she was welcome she was not needed. Both could sense her palpable desire to be out of doors despite the unseasonably cool weather and overcast sky.
It took Elizabeth a few minutes to retrieve and don her warmer outerwear. Once she did she bade Jane and Mr. Barlow good day and then poked her head into her aunt’s study to dothe same. Instead of leaving through the front door, Elizabeth descended to the kitchens. Mrs. Gibbs, the beloved cook, was not present, but the undercooks readily indulged her, and soon she was on her way, pockets full of her favourite muffins. Eating her treat as she went, Elizabeth strode through the rose garden and past the small pond to the path that would lead her through the small west woods. She emerged from the wood half an hour later into unexpected afternoon sunshine. Excitement causing her to quicken her steps, Elizabeth climbed over a small fence and spotted the oak trees, two or three thick, that indicated her destination was not far off. She arrived after another ten minutes on a barely carved path.
The field of vibrant blues, yellows, pinks, and purples stretched out before her. Elizabeth sat on the low stone wall that lined two sides of the field and took in the sight. The flowers seemed to twinkle in the sun, their shades and hues vibrant as they danced in the slight breeze. As had happened last year when she discovered the field, Elizabeth was transfixed. Last year, when she stumbled upon it during a time when she had sought distraction and escape before learning of her family’s health and well-being, its beauty had been a balm to her troubled spirit. She had returned to it every day she could get away even after she learned her family was recovering. For the first time in her life, she wished she had some skill with a pencil or paint so that she could capture the beauty and take it with her.
She soaked in the shapes, colours and scents and was happy. Not yet able to understand that, having stumbled upon the wildflowers during the most anxious time of her young life, the beauty and peace she experienced in that field had as much to do with Elizabeth herself as with the flowers.
After a few minutes Elizabeth carefully made her way to the edge of the field where she knew she would find a small, almost imperceptible path which wound through the flowers and to the stream on the other side. Once she reached the centre, she carefully picked her way among the blooms. Here, some of the flowers were particularly vibrant. Elizabeth dropped into a seat and then she lay down, arms and legs spread wide, staring up at the bright sky through the flowers dancing around her.
Sometime later a rhythmic pounding noise caused her to stir from the light sleep that had caught her. Sitting up slowly, she rubbed her eyes and looked around. After a moment she saw a figure on horseback emerge from the opposite woods. She knelt quickly and watched as the horse and rider sped along the stream. The horse was magnificent: a large black stallion with a shock of white in his black mane which flew in the wind. His strides were sure and swift. It was only once they were almost out of her sight, following a path that would turn with the stream and head away, that she examined the rider. From this distance, she could not make out his features beyond his dark hair and clearly fine clothes. She thought she could tell that he was tall, but then again, everyone appeared tall to the petite young girl, so she couldn’t be sure. It wasn’t so much the individual features of rider or horse that captured Elizabeth’s attention. It was more the fluid movement, the powerful strides and the way they seemed to be one. The abandon with which they seemed to gallop, heedless of all else. She almost held her breath as they approached the stone wall at the far end of the field. They cleared it with what appeared to be no effort at all and soon they were out of sight, the sound of pounding hooves fading quickly.
She did not know it at the time, but that rider left an indelible impression on little Elizabeth. As with thefield, she chose to hold this moment for herself and herself alone.Although as days turned to weeks and the girls continued to enjoy their summer together Elizabeth did choose, about a month into their stay, to bring Jane to her field.
“Lizzy, it is magnificent!” Jane declared after her sister had removed the ribbon, she had insisted on placing over Jane’s eyes as soon as they had reached the oak trees. The older girl knew little of their destination when they set out, being told only that they were going somewhere special. When Elizabeth insisted on the makeshift blindfold to, as she put it, “enhance the effect” Jane had laughingly agreed. The sisters strolled hand in hand and Jane was just about able to express her appreciation for the beauty of the field to Elizabeth’s satisfaction. They returned together a few times that summer. Elizabeth still went alone as well and occasionally she would remember the rider and his horse and hope to catch a glimpse.
A few days before Elizabeth’s birthday Mr. Barlow, whose energy had been steadily growing all summer, felt well enough to venture into Lambton, the little village that served their particular corner of Derbyshire. Though she suspected the outing might be to procure her a birthday gift she did not want to miss an opportunity either to be in Mr. Barlow’s company while he was feeling so well nor to go to the village. He permitted her to join him on condition she promise to make herself scarce while he “took care of his business.” Elizabeth readily agreed.
Despite his protestations of needing time without her company, Mr. Barlow insisted the two first go to the Rose and Crown, as he knew Lizzy adored the confectionery creations the proprietor and his wife had recently begun selling alongside their more traditional fare. After at least one more piece ofmarzipan than her aunt would have allowed Elizabeth and Mr. Barlow parted ways.
“Do not wander far, Lizzy,” he admonished before turning the corner. He was going, Lizzy noted, not towards the bookshop as she had assumed but to the other side of the small village square.
Although she was inclined to head to the bookstore, Lizzy thought perhaps Mr. Barlow was simply trying to confuse her with his direction and he would in fact circle back through the alley. Not wanting to spoil his surprise, she went, instead, to the large chestnut tree on the green by the smithy. It was a beautiful ancient thing and Lizzy had fallen in love with it the moment she saw it. Barlow Hall’s drive was lined with the same type of tree, but they were not nearly as large, nor did they have branches that seemed made for climbing as this one did. As she had never been expressly forbidden from doing so Lizzy, after making sure no one was nearby, scampered up to her favourite spot. She had just settled onto the branch that held her perfectly when she saw people moving directly below her. Before Elizabeth could panic too thoroughly about being discovered they began to speak, and she realised they did not see her at all. Shifting a little awkwardly in her perch Lizzy could see the arrivals more clearly.
A finely dressed, tall, dark-haired young man stood with his back to the tree and was almost entirely blocking what appeared to be a young girl—Lizzy guessed she was Mary or Kitty’s age. This was confirmed when the man knelt in front of the young girl allowing Lizzy to see her face, which was streaked with dirt and tears. As the man placed his hand on her shoulder, she shook her head slightly, then began to cry in earnest. Lizzy could not hear their words, only the hum of the masculine and feminine tones as they spoke back and forth. Adjusting herposition once again so she was close enough to hear them, Lizzy began contemplating jumping down to defend this young girl against whatever it was the gentleman was doing to upset her.
“Georgiana,” she heard him say and she wasn’t certain if it was in comfort or admonishment.
The girl stepped to move past him, but he caught her arm, and whispered something in her ear Lizzy did not hear, but which caused her to fling herself into his arms.
From her new vantage point Lizzy could make out some of what he murmured into her ear as he held her.
Love . . . always . . . father . . . home . . . chocolate
The young girl giggled quietly at the last thing he said and then laid her head on his shoulder. He folded her further into his embrace and sighed in seeming relief.
Since it was clear she was not needed to defend the lady from the gentleman, Lizzy climbed a little higher to avoid being seen, though she continued to observe the pair. From this new angle she could now see the gentleman more clearly.
He was, far and away, the most handsome man she had ever seen. High cheekbones, full lips, broad shoulders. She catalogued all of him she could see—pieces that were visible from where the young girl did not block her view. His dark curly hair sat neatly atop his head except for one stray curl that fell down his forehead almost to his eyes, whose colour she could not make out. Neither was she certain of his age but imagined he could not be more than one and twenty.
Shifting to get a better view to solve this new mystery, Lizzy’s leg slipped, kicking into a branch next to her which snapped. Stifling a gasp, she looked below to find the young girl now standing at her full height and pointing animatedly towards the road. Although she had her arm on her companion, he was no longer looking at her. Instead, his eyes were searching the tree, no doubt to find the source of the noise he had heard. It was only a moment before his eyes locked with hers.
