They were then shown to rooms on the second floor of the stone house. Her father said goodbye to her across the hall, then went to sleep, no doubt. But Elizabeth was too awestruck and excited to sleep. The chamber was large compared to her room back at Longbourn, with several windows that faced east, in full view of the loch. It was like she was living someone else’s life. She stepped into the room and took a moment to let it all sink in.
Its charm did not dull on closer inspection. The stone walls were covered in tapestries, and there was a large carpet covering the stone floor. The four-poster bed looked to have been hand-carved many centuries before and was covered in a tartan bedspread. It was rustic compared with the refined standards that her mother loved so well, but it appealed to Elizabeth’s sensibilities. It was just what she would have expected to find in one of her Gothic novels, where so many fantastical adventures occurred.
Elizabeth walked over to the window, where a seat was nestled below the glass panes, one of the few new features inthe old house, it would seem. She sat down on the window seat cushion, which was plush and comfortable — a pleasant surprise. Mr Campbell must be a highly capable manager, for in the hands of a less skilled man, the house would surely have been run down and ill-kept. Yet Elizabeth had rarely been in so comfortable a house, or in one she liked so well. A cheery fire burned in the large hearth, and despite the room being made of stone, it was not chilly in the slightest.
She sighed contentedly, looking out of the window at the loch only a few hundred yards away. That was what made the room so charming — the view of the Scottish Highlands. Indeed, she felt her creative senses heightened as she took it all in. Perhaps she would try her hand at writing a novel of her own instead of just reading them.
Of course, she would never see it published. That was hardly something for a gentlewoman to do. But it could not hurt to keep it for her own amusement and sense of accomplishment.
After several minutes, she went over to the bed and lay on top of the woollen coverlet. Much as she hated to admit it, she was tired from the journey. It had been a long two weeks, constantly bumping along in the carriage. Not wanting her father to question whether he had done the right thing in bringing her with him, Elizabeth had refused to complain. She had read her books and enjoyed the changing scenery. Now, she was finally here. All that was left was to see if her father would inherit the house and lands and save them all from ruin.
She turned over on her side and was soon asleep. She did not stir until her father knocked on her door, calling her name gently from without.
Elizabeth awoke and pushed herself up off the bed, padding across the room to open the door. “Ah, Lizzy, youlook rather tired. Mr Campbell is here, but if you would rather continue with your rest, I can see him alone.”
“No, please, I would like to come,” Elizabeth said. She turned, going to a full-length mirror near the hearth and smoothing down her skirts. She righted her bun at the nape of her neck, then joined her father in the hall. “I am ready.”
It was such a relief that she need not put on airs here at Strathalt. Surely the other heir, whoever he was, would not think the less of her for being simply dressed — not when they had all travelled so far. It was not as if she were unkempt, anyway, only less formally attired than she would have been in London, where such importance was placed on status.
When they arrived in the drawing room, only one man was waiting for them. Elizabeth looked at him curiously. This, surely, must be Mr Ewan Campbell. He was tall — very tall — with broad shoulders and an upright posture. His head was crowned with a shock of deep red hair and ornamented with incredibly blue eyes. He was a handsome man, to be sure, his spectacles making him look distinguished.
He smiled as they were shown into the room. “Mr Bennet, I presume?” he greeted. “And this charming young lady?”
Elizabeth’s father bowed, then turned to introduce her. “This is my second eldest daughter, Miss Elizabeth Bennet. I hope I do not offend in bringing her as my companion, but I found I could not dream of leaving her behind,” her father explained.
“On the contrary, Mr Bennet. I am delighted that you have both come,” Mr Campbell said and offered Elizabeth his hand. She placed hers in his bear-like palm, and he raised it to his lips.
Elizabeth immediately blushed. She would never dream of saying it aloud, but she had not expected such courtly manners from the Highlands. He let go of her hand and turned to her father. “I suppose you would like to be apprised of the situation? Shall we do so over tea?”
Mr Bennet readily agreed, and they followed him over to a comfortable seating area near the hearth. Each word Mr Campbell spoke only deepened Elizabeth’s approval of the manager of Strathalt House. He seemed a serious fellow, scholarly and responsible.
“I trust your journey went well?” Mr Campbell asked as they were seated.
“It was uneventful,” Mr Bennet replied. “Your country is even more beautiful than I could have imagined. Merely being told is not nearly good enough to describe its allure.”
This seemed to please Mr Campbell. “Thank you. I cannot but agree. I spent several years in England, at Oxford. And while there are many diversions down south, there is nothing quite like one’s homeland.”
Tea was served at that moment, and they all took some time to have their teacups filled and pick from a tray mixed with English and Scottish delicacies. Mr Campbell pointed to a small crystal dish with a dainty silver spoon resting beside it. “That is fruit slice, a classic Scottish dessert. It also has another name, that of ‘flies’ cemetery’, but I beg you do not judge it too harshly for that. The combination of apples and dried fruit is delicious.”
Elizabeth laughed. “That is a strange name, to be sure, Mr Campbell, but I shall try it upon your recommendation.” Unappealing as the name was, she was eager to try something authentically Scottish.
Despite the unfortunate name, it was divine, made with freshly harvested apples and a great deal of honey. As she savoured another bite, she came upon a flavour that escaped her, giving the delicacy a sharp, distinct essence all its own.
Mr Campbell must have seen the confusion on her face, for he leant forward with a jestingly conspiratorial air and whispered. “There is a hint of whisky in the recipe, but rest assured, it is only enough to give a bit of flavour unique to the Highlands.” He winked and sat back. “It is perfectly safe for a young lady. And for myself, for that matter, for I should not wish to imbibe too deeply either. I hold with the Good Book on drink, you know: do not be drunk with wine.”
“I see, Mr Campbell,” Elizabeth replied politely, if a little distractedly. An idea was forming in her mind, for in his seriousness and dedication to spiritual matters, Mr Campbell reminded her of no one so much as Mary. As her father and Mr Campbell talked, Elizabeth turned the thought over in her mind. Might not Mr Campbell make a good match for Mary? She was herself so serious and devoted to the study of the Scriptures. Mr Campbell’s serious nature would appeal to her middle sister. And he was young and hard-working, taking all he did with a sense of responsibility that would also recommend him to Mary. Unlike her youngest sisters, Mary was not concerned with the latest fashions or a man’s appearance, but with his mind and convictions.
“Now, let us get down to the task, shall we?” Mr Campbell said at last. “I am grateful that you have come so far to meet with me, Mr Bennet. My late employer, Mr Sinclair, was a kind and fair gentleman, but as he had no children, there was no one to take over the house when he passed. He dearly loved this place.”
“Yes, it seems to be in excellent condition, from what Mrs Graham showed us,” her father said. “You have done well with its upkeep, if I may say so.”
“Thank you,” Mr Campbell replied lightly. “I have been looking after Strathalt since I was a boy — first alongside my father and then on my own when he passed. I grew up in the area and have always had a special place in my heart for this house.” He sighed, looking down at his hands. His calluses showed he was not only a steward, but a hard-working man. “It will be difficult to leave it to another man, though I shall be glad to see it in the hands of a good owner, whether that is the other gentleman, or yourself, sir. If you will permit me to say so, Mr Bennet, I should be delighted to continue managing the estate, if you wished me to do so.”
Her father raised his brows, by no means displeased. “I cannot speak for the other gentleman, but I would be most grateful if you would stay on, Mr Campbell. The estate will need someone who knows the area and its people. Everything I have seen of Strathalt speaks of your dedication. Indeed, it would be a relief to my mind if you would continue managing the estate. I thank you.”
“It would be my pleasure.”
Her father shifted. “What do you know of the other gentleman, Mr Campbell? Is he of Scottish descent, perhaps from the area?”
