They passed the chateau of Fontainebleau and Elizabeth looked at it in wonder. It dwarfed Pemberley and Rosings, too.
‘At least the revolution didn’t destroy this,’ she said.
She had seen a great deal of destruction in Paris, with buildings defaced or demolished, but the palace was still intact, rapturous in its beauty. It had graceful proportions and elegant lines, ornamented with the curve of a horseshoe staircase at its front. And surrounding the palace were the greens and blues of the gardens and lake.
‘No, not the outside, but the inside has been ransacked and the furniture sold. François would not recognise it now, nor Louis, nor Marie Antoinette.’
He spoke about them as if he knew them, but Elizabeth’s education, governess-less though it had been, was sufficient to tell her that he meant the French kings and queens of centuries gone by.
‘Autumn was always the time for Fontainebleau,’ he said. ‘That was when the Court came here to hunt. But not anymore. Nothing lasts. It all fades away. Only the trees remain.’ He pointed one of them out to her, an ancient tree, standing alone. ‘I used to climb that tree as a boy,’ he said. ‘It was perfect for my purposes. The lower branches were just low enough for me to be able to reach them by jumping, if not on the first attempt, then on the second or third, and the topmost branches were strong enough to bear my weight. When I reached them, I would hold on to the trunk and look out over the surrounding countryside and pretend I was on a ship and that I had just climbed the mast, looking for land.’
‘You may climb it now if you like!’ she said. ‘I will wait.’
He laughed.
‘I doubt the branches would bear my weight. It was a long time ago.’
She liked to hear of his childhood, and as they rode on, he told her more about his boyhood pursuits. She responded with tales of her own childhood, games of chase with her large family of sisters on the Longbourn lawn and rainy afternoons curled up on the window seat in the library with a book.
Elizabeth patted her mare’s neck as they came to a crossroads and turned south, the carriages rolling along behind them. Darcy, watching Elizabeth said, ‘Has Snowfall won you over? Do you like riding?’
‘How could I not with such a mount?’ said Elizabeth. ‘But—’
She shifted a little in her saddle.
‘Saddle sore?’ he asked.
‘Yes! I am not used to it, you know.’
‘Would you rather walk?’
‘I think so, for a little while, anyway.’
He helped her to dismount and then dismounted beside her, and they walked on, leading their horses, until Elizabeth at last tired and took her seat once more in the coach.
As they travelled south through France, the Alps drew steadily closer.
‘Twice now I have been deprived of a promised visit to the Lake District, but both times I have been glad to change my destination. I never thought anything could be so beautiful,’ she said.
She raised her eyes to their summits, which were iced with snow.
‘You must have seen pictures of them,’ said Darcy.
‘Pictures, yes, but they didn’t prepare me for their scale or grandeur,’ she said.
As day followed day, they left the lowlands behind and began to climb, following a winding road through the foothills of the mountains which gave extensive views at every turn. Against the backdrop of the mountains there were tall trees and shady glens, and here and there, they saw mountain goats. There were flowers still blooming in the meadows. Butterflies flitted between the gentians, harebells, and saxifrage, their iridescent blue and yellow wings catching the light.
From time to time, they came across cool, bubbling springs at which they stopped to drink. Darc
y knew the way, having travelled the route before, and as the light started to fade at the end of each day, he led them to a homely cottage where they could shelter, having them safely inside before sunset.
At the end of several days’ travelling, they stopped for the night at a small inn.
‘It’s not like the inns in England,’ said Darcy as they approached.
‘It’s delightful,’ said Elizabeth.
It was set amidst the mountains beside a mirror-like lake. She ran her eyes over the rustic building with its gaily painted shutters, its blooming window boxes, and its overhanging eaves.
They were welcomed warmly with genuine hospitality. The size of their retinue at first caused some consternation, but the problem was quickly solved by the judicious use of outbuildings which