Laughingly, he grabbed her rapidly moving face, pulling in for a centered kiss, and then withdrew to meet her shining eyes. “Thank you for your enthusiasm, love. I fear I must warn you that the terrain between here and Castleton is rather dull. No rugged roads, as you requested, but, alas, the countryside is tame and relatively devoid of interesting peculiarities.”

Lizzy shook her head. “I shall be with you. That is all that truly matters. Besides, I adore pastoral countryside and do not deem it dull in the least. You shall make it exciting, William. My own wonderful, personal tour guide.”

He stroked her cheek with a smile. “A challenge, then, for me to dazzle you. Ah,” he glanced out the window as the carriage slowed, “our first destination. The village of Horsley.” They stood before another church, this one stunning and remarkably different in style then all the ones visited thus far. The entire structure of beautiful grey stone, ornate with a strongly buttressed, spire-topped tower nestled on a grassy, flower laden rise. An ancient cemetery graced the immediate surrounds, dating back to the thirteenth century. A fifteenth century addition of a high clerestory with a dramatic array of windows under a handsome parapet of battlements and pinnacles gave the church a castle-like appearance. The multitude of windows lit the wide interior to nearly full daylight intensity. It was wholly spectacular.

Lizzy and Darcy wandered about, once again filled with the peace which inevitably saturated such places. The moderate hill yielded a stupendous view of the immediate environs to the north. Despite Darcy's dismal prediction of monotony, Lizzy found the landscape breathtaking. The endless rolling hills stretched to the horizon, hazy grey mist merging the sky with the land. Glittering little streams and patchwork-quilt fields of crops and orchards with simple country homes were all that was readily seen, but it was serene and earthy. The air was teeming with freshly tilled soil, sweet flowers, cut grass, the songs of birds and bleats of sheep, and a host of other natural sensations.

Lizzy inhaled deeply, squeezing her husband's arm in contentment. “It reminds me of our home. Growing things, organic and wild, and the workaday life of unpretentious folk. I have always adored simplicity and raw nature. I am thankful that, for all the opulence of Pemberley even with its cultured gardens, at its heart, it is a farm and a home.” She glanced up at Darcy, who was looking at her in astonishment. “You see, my love, we never were that different, you and I. I may have more easily dressed the part of a country girl, but your soul is of the land.”

It was with tremendous effort that Darcy resisted embracing his wife where they stood in public. He cleared his throat gruffly, blinked several times, and silently squeezed her hand in return.

The eight miles to Alfreton were entirely rural, the villages passed tiny in the extreme. Twice they were forced to halt for herding sheep crossing the road and once to lend a ride to an elderly man whose wagon wheel had broken. They entered Alfreton, a community predominately reliant on coal mining, nestled in the Amber River Valley, on their Friday market day. Farmers from miles around converged to sell their wares every Friday since 1251. Neither Darcy nor Lizzy were aware of this fact, it being a local event, but were thrilled nonetheless. The narrow streets were jammed, forcing the Darcys to disembark on the edge of town, Darcy commanding Mr. Anders to circle around to the north where they would meet him later. The Darcys set out to explore, a blushing Samuel escorting his betrothed in the opposite direction through the press of people and stalls.

The festive atmosphere was enchanting. Stall upon ceaseless stall of fresh vegetables and fruits, cured meats and sausages, homemade ales and wines, arts and crafts, and so forth. Vendors sold delicious smelling meat pies and tarts, whole roasted turkey legs, corn on the cob, stews, freshly baked breads and pastries, and so much more. Deciding on which culinary delight to devour was agony! Lizzy ate until she almost felt ill, and Darcy was apparently a bottomless pit.

A stall selling lovely bracelets of polished stones intrigued Lizzy and she purchased one for each girl child and caretaker at the orphanage. For the boys, she purchased small, hand-whittled whistles, sure to delight the boys and irritate the adults. For Georgiana, who incessantly complained of the cold, she found slippers fashioned of sheepskin. They were unadorned but sturdy, with thick soles and excellent stitching.

They wandered leisurely through the crowded streets, listened to the varied minstrels playing, watched a puppet show and a crude enactment of Henry V on the grassy village square, and were charmed at the overheard conversations of the locals, which universally centered on romance and agriculture. The press of people thinned as they reached the northern boundary of the village, meeting up with the carriage and Samuel and Marguerite. They resumed their journey, after providing Mr. Anders and Phillips with fresh food and small mugs of ale.

Pausing briefly in Tibshelf, mainly for Darcy to show Lizzy one of the shallow coal mines the area has been famous for since the 1500s, when Bess of Hardwick had opened the first one. Darcy stood with his wife on a low rise near the edge of the village; across a narrow gorge sat a hulking monstrosity in grey and black with smoke billowing from tall stacks. It was one of the new deep mines recently opened to delve hundreds of feet into the ground for hidden caches of coal. With expressions of disgust, they watched the blackened workers attending to their duties while Darcy explained the fundamentals as best as he knew them.

“Do you invest in coal mining?” Lizzy asked nervously, fearing a positive response.

Darcy shook his head. “No. I have looked into the prospect and it is tempting, as the industry is profitable and I fear the wave of the energy future. However, I could not bring myself to be a part of such a filthy and dangerous production. Cotton milling and the various occupations necessary to keep Pemberley solvent are hazardous enough. Besides, I have a sufficient number of ventures to keep me busy.”

He smiled at the relief written on her face, taking her elbow and steering her along the pathway until the ugly mine had disappeared from view. In stark contrast to the dismal vision of scarred landscape to the south was the majestic mansion Hardwick Hall. Standing again on the edge of a shallow vale, Lizzy and Darcy could clearly see the stupendous house and magnificent grounds. In fact, Hardwick Hall, the breathtaking mansion home of the wealthy Elizabeth Hardwick, could readily be seen from nearly all points of the little hamlet.

“As you know, my love, versed in English history as thoroughly as you are, the Countess of Shrewsbury was a powerful and rich woman, second only to Queen Elizabeth herself. I must confess that if any Derbyshire mansion rivals Pemberley, it would be Hardwick.”

“I will concur that it is impressive, dearest. I do not think I have ever encountered a house with such enormous windows. Perhaps I too am merely prejudiced, but I think I prefer the baroque style of Pemberley to the Tudor. In the end, I suppose it depends on one's taste without there being a definitive winner. Pemberley seems homier and not so ostentatious. I could never imagine a Darcy wanting their initials boldly emblazoned from each pinnacle!”

Darcy laughed, glancing at her impishly. “Are you certain? I was just envisaging how it would look to have E. D. in scrolling steel or marble on all four corners of the manor.”

Lizzy seriously shook her head, but her lips were twitching with humor. “Too bold, William. Perchance a niche in the parlor for a carved idol and candles? Or possibly a blooming hedge shaped like my face?”

Darcy shook his head, lips pursed. “No to the idol. I prefer to offer my worship upon your physical body. As for the hedge,” he said, nodding, “I shall give it some thought.”

“Ha!” Lizzy pinched his side. “Good luck on that one. I am positive Mr. Clark would flatly refuse if you requested such an atrocity on his grounds.”

“His grounds?” Darcy said with lifted brow.

Lizzy laughed. “Make no mistake, William. You own the estate and pay the bills, but when it comes to the landscaping, Mr. Clark is king.”

Chesterfield, although the second largest town in Derbyshire, was a third the size and population of Derby. Initially this disparity was not evident, the bustling activity along the streets fairly intense. Chesterfield's central location on the northeastern region of the county, coupled with lying on the northern road to Sheffield, ensured a steady traffic.

“Why do you never travel here, William? Chesterfield is closer to Pemberley than Derby.”

Darcy shrugged. “I have no business ventures here, and Derby has more to offer in both commerce and entertainment. Frankly, I tend not to travel there all that much. In the past, prior to marrying you”—he bent for a kiss to her brow—“I passed so much time in London that I had little need to venture afield once at Pemberley. You are correct that Chesterfield is nearer to us. One can be here in an hour by carriage, far less on a fast horse. We should keep this in mind as we wander about. It may be a more reasonable alternative, my love, if you need wares not attainable in Lambton or Matlock.”

The carriage pulled into a long drive before a substantial sized inn entirely constructed of multihued river stones. Numerous singular stone cottages and moderate two-story buildings were scattered about the extensive, park-like property. The whole campus bordered the River Hipper.

Lizzy was gazing out the carriage window in awe. “This is a lovely inn for such a modest town. Are they expecting us?” She turned to her husband with questioning eyes.

“No, but that is immaterial. We are the Darcys. They will have a room for us.” He said it bluntly and absently, Lizzy taken aback momentarily; then she remembered with a start the truth of his words, especially as the carriage halted and five livery garbed servants leapt forward to assist with their luggage while Phillips hopped down and opened the door. They were greeted formally by the hotel's superintendent, the man fawning as if welcoming the Prince Regent himself. Darcy assumed his full Master of Pemberley pose, the semblance natural and anticipated in these sorts of situations.

Lizzy, after months in London, was quite familiar with this presentation of her privately boyish, casual spouse. Therefore, it no longer shocked her and, in fact, sent little shivers of excitement up her spine. She adored both aspects of Darcy's personality: the charming, teasing, passionate man that he was when relaxed as well as the commanding, forceful, aristocratic man of means who was every inch a Darcy.

Within minutes, they were escorted to a secluded cottage on the edge of the river. Samuel and Marguerite instantly set about unpacking Lizzy's and Darcy's personal effects; a maid arrived with freshly cut flowers and to open the windows; a servant with a tray of wine, cheeses, and bread appeared; and a last materialized to provide an orientation to the cottage's facilities. It was a whirlwind, and Lizzy was exhausted by the time they all departed.

As soon as the door closed behind the last maid, Lizzy slumped onto the sofa with a heavy sigh. “My, my! What an ordeal. The rooms are delightful though. Have you stayed here before?”