They were brown, dark brown, and they widened when they connected with hers. His lips twitched slightly and then one side pulled up into a knowing almost smile, but instead of exposing her, which she would not have liked, or speaking to her, which she thought maybe she would have, he simply turned and led his companion to the carriage on the other side of the road. He looked back as they reached the door of the conveyance, catching her eye once again and shook his head in apparent amusement. Lizzy waited until the carriage was out of sight before climbing down.
She stood on the green for a few moments, watching the carriage disappear from sight. Then with a deep, dreamy sigh, she collapsed against the trunk of the tree, closing her eyes in order to replay the last few minutes in her mind. It seemed very important to Elizabeth to commit to memory every aspect of the stranger, his dark eyes, his curly hair, his amused almost smile that was just for her. The tender way he held the girl, who she imagined must be a close relation, a sister perhaps? His voice she had not heard fully but knew it was deep and could be soft. He had broad shoulders and was quite tall. From his clothes and the young lady’s Lizzy knew he was from a fine family, and this gave her an idea. Opening her eyes and making to rise Lizzy was surprised to see Mr. Barlow standing over her. How long had shebeen sitting there? Long enough, it seemed, for Mr. Barlow to have returned to the carriage to hide his purchase because she noted that as he gazed down at her with a fond smile his hands that reached to help her up were empty.
“A strange place and time for a nap, Miss Lizzy,” he said as they set off together arm in arm.
“I was memorizing a moment,” she told him earnestly, “I wanted to commit to memory every sight, sound and smell of the events which just transpired, and which will no doubt comprise the prologue to my own tale of romance and adventure.”
“Ah I see,” was his reply. He did not mock her or enquire further, nor did he seem surprised. This was something Lizzy loved about the older gentleman. Where her dramatic declarations, questions, even her dirty petticoats would evoke censure from her mother or neighbours at home, from Mr. Barlow they led occasionally to conversation or more often merely a raised eyebrow and a smile.
After they had settled onto opposite sides of the comfortable, well-sprung carriage and begun their twenty-minute journey back to Barlow Hall, Mr. Barlow asked, “Who are the other characters in this tale with you? Perhaps you have found your very own Mr. Orville?”
“You read it!” Elizabeth exclaimed with delight.
“I barely needed to,” he said with a smile. “You very effectively communicated every jot and tittle of the plot, characters and settings of the novel over dinner the other night.”
“I couldn’t help it!” she argued. “It was transformative!”
“So I gathered,” Mr. Barlow responded. “But back to the question at hand.”
“First, you must admit that History of a Young Lady’s Entrance into the World was so very delightful,” Elizabeth insisted, using her most commanding voice to enunciate the beloved title, “and that Evelina was just wonderful and deserved every bit of happiness she found with Lord Orville.”
“Yes, yes, I will admit to engaging with the novel with a degree of pompous scepticism. However, because I trust your taste so much, dearest Lizzy, I kept an open mind. I enjoyed it thoroughly and found myself cheering for our heroine, so I sit ready for any further recommendations.”
Lizzy smile was wide. Few things gave her as much pleasure as sharing the joy of a good book with a friend. Evelina was her favourite novel and Mr. Barlow one of her favourite people.
“Are you avoiding my question or just distracted by any discussion of your beloved book?”
“Oh the latter to be sure,” Lizzy assured him solemnly.
“Very well, will you tell me of your moment?” he asked with equal solemnity. And she did, holding nothing back. Mr. Barlow did not interrupt and commented only that he hoped she had not climbed too high.
After assuring him that she was completely safe at all times in and out of the tree, Lizzy asked after the first families of the neighbourhood. “If you tell me their names and ages and what you know of them, including any physical description, Ibelieve I can determine the identity of my Lord or . . . of the young gentleman.”
Although Mr. Barlow was more than willing to comply with Elizabeth‘s request, by the time they had reached Barlow Hall, they had considered all of the area families with whom he was familiar without finding a probable match. They would realise, sometime during another summer, that his acquaintance with the next generation of one particular family was outdated, having not seen them either in town or at social events in many years.
Chapter Three
Summer1805
The Bennet carriage ambled down the tree-lined drive of Barlow Hall late one April evening. Jane and Elizabeth eagerly pressed their noses to the glass, waiting for a glimpse of the house which they knew would be lit by torches and candles in anticipation of their arrival. Their father slept on the opposite bench, his snores having provided the not so musical accompaniment to the sisters’ conversation for the last several hours.
“I can see it!” Jane declared, and Elizabeth slid to her side of the carriage.
“It is lit up like a bonfire,” Elizabeth observed as the carriage took the final turn. Now Barlow Hall lay in front of them, and they could not see it anymore. However, they could rouse their sleeping father to apprise him of their imminent arrival. Elizabeth let Jane attempt this in her gentle way. When this did not work, Elizabeth employed her own method.
“Lizzy,” he nearly shouted as he sat up. Jane giggled while still trying to admonish her sister.
“You should not exploit Papa’s ticklishness,” she said, attempting, and failing, to sound stern.
“But he would not wake up, and we are almost there,” Elizabeth defended herself. “Besides, you know you love to hear his laugh.”
It was true, the high girlish snigger Mr. Bennet emitted when tickled was a well-known and much-loved noise in their family. He harrumphed dramatically, but his smile betrayed him. He was in high spirits having quite enjoyed the trip with his eldest daughters. He looked forward to the fortnight he planned to spend participating in the planting season of Barlow Hall, learning new methods and sharing his own experience and wisdom with his brother-in-law. Although if he and his wife were not able to produce a son, as was seeming more and more likely, Mr. Bennet saw little reason to exert himself on behalf of an estate that would devolve to his despised, miserly, ignorant cousin upon his death.
Each year that passed without the anticipated heir saw Mr. Bennet slipping further and further into the role of the indolent landlord, and some might say father as well. However, since his brother-in-law, who also happened to be a prodigious correspondent and a favourite of his, now also had an estate to manage, Mr. Bennet had become slightly more engaged and willing to learn. Mr. Gardiner brought his natural enthusiasm and intelligence to bear on his management of Barlow Hall in ways that reminded Mr. Bennet of his younger self, and despite his lazier tendencies, found that he wanted to exert himself as he saw his brother-in-law doing, particularly when he saw the results the younger man was achieving. The carriage came to a stop, and Mr. Bennet took a look out the window as they waited for the carriage to be ready for their descent.
“Well, Lizzy, with how you have gone on these past few years, I was half expecting to find a castle in the clouds and to be greeted by woodland fairies, but I suppose this will do.”
Barlow Hall’s servants placed the steps in front of the Bennet conveyance and rapped on the door to indicate all was ready. And so it was that Mr. Bennet found himself descending from his carriage after two days of travel into the arms of his wife’s family.
