And if the fields continued to flood…
She stopped herself.Worrying changes nothing,she scolded in a voice reminiscent of her Granny Bennet.Do not borrow trouble, Elizabeth.
Yet she had become so accustomed to carrying worries that she scarcely knew how to stop.
A gust of damp wind swept across the yard, stirring loose strands of hair around her face. Somewhere nearby, thunder rumbled faintly.
Elizabeth stared toward the south with unease prickling at the base of her spine. The weather felt wrong somehow.
She could only hope and pray that the rain would not bring the river over its banks again.
The last flooding had nearly swept away Miller Watson’s youngest son while the child attempted to cross the lowerfootbridge. Two sheep had drowned, and half the road to Meryton had become so deeply submerged that carts required twice the normal time to pass.
And London—
Her brow furrowed.
If Hertfordshire’s roads were this poor, conditions within the city must be far worse. Gracechurch Street lay close enough to the river that heavy flooding would certainly affect the surrounding districts.
Elizabeth made a mental note to write to her aunt that evening.
Another low roll of thunder sounded overhead.
Mrs. Gardiner hated storms. Elizabeth remembered that much from childhood visits to London. Her aunt always became restless and anxious during violent weather, particularly when confined indoors.
And near her confinement besides.
Elizabeth bit her lip thoughtfully.
Perhaps she ought to ask her father whether one of the stable boys might carry a letter to London before the roads worsened entirely.
Though whether Mr. Bennet would remember to give permission once she asked was another matter entirely.
The thought brought immediate irritation.
At seventeen, Elizabeth was old enough to understand that most gentlemen’s daughters did not spend their days chasing signatures for estate repairs or reminding their fathers which tenants needed relief before quarter day. Jane scarcely understood half the matters Elizabeth handled regularly, and Lydia openly declared such concerns dull beyond endurance.
Sometimes Elizabeth wondered what her life might have been had she possessed the luxury of uselessness.
Would she have cared more for gowns?
For assemblies?
For flirtations and beaus?
Or would she still have found herself restless while things fell into disrepair around her?
The kitchen door burst open behind her before she could dwell further upon the thought.
“Miss Lizzy!”
Elizabeth turned to find Sarah, one of the younger maids, breathless from haste.
“What is it?”
“The groom from Lucas Lodge has come, miss. He says there’s terrible flooding near the southern road.”
Elizabeth’s stomach tightened at once.
