Page 75 of Mr. Darcy Comes to Town

With Miss Mary being my sister’s new, particular friend, I suppose this only makes sense. Even so, I hate the idea of anyone knowing. I must be sensible, however.

“Very well, Miss Elizabeth, you may tell them.”

She nodded and indicated an access point between hedgerows where a sign read, Godbed Farm. “Here is the place. The farmer’s name is Mr. Godbed. He and his good wife have three children, Tommy, Janice, and Gilbert, who are fourteen, twelve, and eight, respectively.”

“Thank you,” Darcy said. He took several deep breaths to calm himself further. “Are they expecting us?”

“They are,” Miss Elizabeth said. “I sent around a note this morning.”

By the time Darcy had parked his gig at the side of the house, the farmer and his wife stood nearby with their children ranged beside them. The brick and flint house had a handsome front, with a centered door, a large window on either side of it, and a row of windows above, all trimmed in white. A timber framed barn sat back a little from the house. Chickens scratched in the yard and pigs grunted as they rooted about in their pen.

Darcy climbed down and assisted Miss Elizabeth to alite.

“Good day to you, Mr. Godbed. Mrs. Godbed,” she said, smiling radiantly.

His mood immediately lifting, Darcy turned to face his hosts. Mr. Godbed, a large and jovial-looking man, took off his cap, revealing auburn hair, cut short. His kind-faced wife curtsied.

“Good day t’ye, Miss Elizabeth, ma’am,” Mr. Godbed said. To his children, he said, “Make yer curtsy, Janice, dear, and you boys take off yer caps.”

The children obeyed without saying a word. Janice stared at them owlishly. Both boys, though, only had eyes for Darcy’s horse. Mrs. Godbed smiled proudly at her three children.

“I would like to make known to you, Mr. Darcy,” Miss Elizabeth said, indicating his person with a graceful wave of her hand.

Darcy nodded to them. “Mr. Godbed. Mrs. Godbed. Thank you for permitting me to come and look at your puppies. Miss Elizabeth claims they are handsome beasts and that one will make a fine pet for my sister.”

“Aye, she would know,” Mr. Godbed said. “We’ll bring ‘em up to the shed behind the kitchen, sir. They’re not allowed, strictly speakin’, into the ‘ouse. Come and give me a hand, you lot.” The three children hurried before their father, heading for the barn.

“We’ve made it nice and cozy in there, sir, miss,” Mrs. Godbed promised. “Follow me, if y’would.”

Darcy took Miss Elizabeth by the elbow, and they followed the farmwife around the side of the house to the back. The good-sized, open-sided stone shed looked sturdy and in good repair, attached to the rear of the house. Firewood, stacked shoulder high in three tight rows, filled half the space in the rear of the shed. In front of the rows. several kitchen chairs had been set in a circle around the flagstone floor, which had been swept clean. A parlor table had been brought out, a cloth put over it, and a glass pitcher of what appeared to be mint tea sat upon the cloth. A plate of buttered loaf slices sat in the center beside some napkins.

“How lovely this looks, ma’am,” Miss Elizabeth said, taking the chair indicated by her hostess. “Is this your famous cobnut loaf?”

“‘Tis so, miss,” Mrs. Godbed said, beaming now. “Please, sir, sit yerself down.”

“After you, ma’am,” Darcy said, holding onto the back of one of the chairs for her.

She blushed, clearly pleased with his manners. “I thank ye, sir, but I’m goin’ t’give ye a slice of me loaf and a drink of tea before those puppies get here.”

Darcy sat in a chair that faced the farmyard and accepted a glass of the cool tea and a slice of loaf. He drank half of the refreshing liquid right away, being parched. Then, under Mrs. Godbed’s watchful, eager gaze, he bit into the loaf. He chewed and swallowed.

“Excellent, thank you. The loaf—and the tea—are just sweet enough, in my opinion,” Darcy offered, going in for a second bite.

He never had any trouble making conversation with everyday folk. He only fell into reserved speech when speaking to individuals of his own class. Perhaps his comfort level formed as a boy, due to his interactions with his father’s tenants and servants. He and…never mind who…used to run and play all over the estate and nearby villages. When he gained his twelfth year, his father began to teach him about running the estate and Darcy became too busy to galivant about.

“Indeed,” Miss Elizabeth was saying, smiling with relish. “Mr. Darcy is so right. Just the perfect level of sweetness.”

“I played with m’recipe, miss,” Mrs. Godbed said, smiling widely and perching on the edge of a chair. She folded her hands in her lap. “‘Willful waste makes woeful want’ as the saying goes. I can now make three loaves usin’ the same amount of honey as two loafs used t’take. ‘It’s not cake, it’s a loaf’ I says t’meself. ‘It needn’t be so sweet’.”

“I perfectly understand you,” Miss Elizabeth said before she took another bite.

“Your butter is superb,” Darcy said. “What breed of cow do you have?”

“We’ve a small herd o’ British whites, sir,” Mrs. Godbed said. “Good fer both dairy and eatin’.”

Darcy raised his eyebrows. “Ah, I see. My herdsman wishes us to diversify our herd of cattle with British whites—we have Ayrshires at the moment, you see,” he said. “Do you recommend the British whites?”

Mrs. Godbed nodded emphatically. “I do, I do. I am pleased that they’ve no horns, too. I like that, see, on account o’ the children. Their safety, sir. And,” she added almost as an afterthought, “the bulls are docile and also without horns.” She jumped up and refilled their almost empty glasses. “Me husband can tell y’more, I’m sure.”