Lydia’s good friend, Dorothea, was helping her pack the trunk for her journey. She was a petite blonde with naturally curly hair, baby blue eyes, and a pert nose.

“What am I going to do without you, dearest sister?” Dorothea asked.

“I shall write you weekly, and you must write back to me. I want to hear all the news of Piddlehinton. I shall be bereft of news unless you write. My mother and Margaret are useless and boring correspondents, and Emily is far too caught up in her new family life to be of any use at all.”

Dorothea held up a petticoat sadly in need of repair. “Surely you are not taking this?”

“Oh, no. Put that away. It must be torn up for rags.” She sighed. “But the rest of my undergarments are not much better. I can see that I am going to spend most of my free time during the next few months mending, as there is no possible way I can afford new petticoats or bloomers.”

Dorothea folded up another petticoat and placed it in the trunk. “What is your Aunt Lavinia like? Do you know her well?”

“Not at all. She is my grandmother’s sister on my mother’s side. I have never met her, but she writes my mother regularly and always asks that Mother pass on her best wishes to the three daughters. I have no idea what to expect.”

“I wish I could go with you. I long for an adventure or two.” Dorothea giggled. “What do you know about the young men of the area? Any prospects ripe for plucking, do you think? Are there any military officers in that region?”

“Dorothea, I have no idea and even less interest. Really, in my situation, with no living and no prospects, I will not be able to attract even the most humble farmer or rat catcher.”

“Oh, Lydia, how unfair. You are a charming and beautiful young lady of breeding, refined manners, and accomplishments. Surely there must be many young gentlemen who could fall madly in love with you.”

Lydia gave her a sour look. “Really, you are too extravagant with your fantasies. I have come to terms with my lot in life and shall endure it with perseverance and a good humor.”

There was a knock at the door and Margaret peeked inside.

“What are you two up to?” she asked.

“Packing my trunk,” Lydia replied.

“I have just finished all my packing for the wedding. It seems so strange to think that I will not be living here anymore.”

“Are you excited?” Dorothea asked.

“It’s all such a whirlwind. I don’t know what I feel, quite honestly.” She came over and sat on the edge of the bed, picking up a novel from Lydia’s side table. “Need any help?” she asked, absently.

It was clear she had no real intention of helping. Lydia speculated that what she really wanted was a good gossip.

“Will you be staying on in Pulford after the wedding?” Dorothea asked.

“We will. Charles’s parents have a quite charming cottage on some property down the road from the family home and we shall be setting up house there. His practice is quite close by and I expect he shall be able to come home for dinner at noon each day. It’s been very difficult to be separated, and we look forward to starting up our life together.”

“It sounds delightful,” Dorothea said. “You must be very happy to be marrying so soon.”

Margaret cast a warning glance at Dorothea and shook her head, indicating they must not speak about such happiness in front of Lydia who had no such happy prospects.

Margaret looked up at Lydia. “Mamma says dinner will be served soon, can you leave your packing?”

Lydia nodded, and then turned to Dorothea, “Can you join us? I am sure there will be plenty. I saw quite luscious beets being pulled from the garden this morning. And I heard a chicken squawking her last cries, meaning she’ll be on the table as well.”

“Oh, no. I’m expected back home, although it sounds delightful.”

“I’m off then,” Margaret said, jumping up from the bed. “Now that Lucy is gone, I’m expected to help set out the dinner. Ten minutes?”

Lydia nodded, and Margaret left the bedroom.

Dorothea began to tear up. “I’m going to miss you so very much. Will I see you again before you leave?”

“We head off to Margaret’s wedding the day after tomorrow. And then I’ll be on the post carriage at ten o’clock the morning after that. Maybe you could see me off.” Now Lydia began to cry as well.

They embraced, then Dorothea pulled away to discretely blow her nose and dab at her eyes with the handkerchief from her pocket.

“I must go before I become a sobbing mess and we both collapse into puddles of sorrow,” Dorothea said, as she gave Lydia a kiss on each cheek and swept out of the room.

Lydia sat on the edge of the bed. She looked around the room, trying to memorize its every detail, for she did not know when she shall be here again—if ever.

She walked around the room touching familiar objects and trying to decide what she absolutely needed to take with her. She wanted to travel light and start afresh in her new home. There was no point in taking anything she didn’t need. Certainly, her aunt would have books to read so she decided to take nothing with her other than her most essential necessities and one book to read on the journey.

She heard her mother calling from the dining room. It was time to go down.

She must be brave she told herself for the fourth or fifth time that morning. She would miss her lovely home, her mother, Margaret and, most especially, her father.

There would be no one to console her. She must stand alone, bear the grief by herself, and hope and pray that she might find a safe and welcoming harbor when she arrived at her new home. But Lydia realized and accepted the fact that she had no one but herself that she could count on.

* * *

Margaret’s wedding had been a raucous success. The wine, beer, and cider had flowed freely, and her father’s cheeks were even rosier than usual. Her mother sobbed on and off most of the day, and Margaret and Emily were now the proud married ladies of the three siblings.

The morning of Lydia’s journey, the sky was overcast. A cool wind blew in from the east and it seemed there would certainly be a storm brewing before long.

Papa had borrowed a carriage from a parishioner, as he did not have one of his own, to transport what was left of his family and Lydia’s luggage to the carriage stop in Piddlehinton.

Dorothea had come to see Lydia off. She was wrapped in a woolen knitted shawl, pulled tightly around her shoulders to keep out the wind.

Mother was the only one rattling on as they waited for the carriage.

“Here, this will keep you fed until you reach the first post house inn,” she said, handing Lydia a small basket. “There are several cheese sandwiches, a small prune cake and a flask of brandy if you get light headed riding in the carriage.”

“Thank you, Mother,” Lydia said.

She had her arm through her father’s, and she snuggled up close to him to shield herself from the bite of the wind.

Lydia turned to Dorothea. “Now, you will write, won’t you? I’ll depend on your biting observations on the foibles of our little village. No one else has quite your eye for shenanigans.”

“You can count on it,” Dorothea said, looking up at the sky. “I really should be getting home. I know it is going to pour down any moment and I cannot afford to catch a chill.”

“Go. Go,” Lydia said, disengaging from her father and embracing Dorothea. “I shall miss you,” was all she could say or she would burst into tears.

Dorothea ran off just as the post carriage came into view.

Her father once again counted all the pieces of luggage, although he had already done that three times since they arrived at the carriage stop.

Mother pulled her apron up to her face and covered her mouth in an attempt to stop from crying.

The clacking, bouncing, swaying carriage came to a stop in front of them. The huff and snort of pawing horses filled the air under the shouts of the drivers hoisting the luggage onto the carriage, as Papa assisted Lydia into her seat.

She opened the carriage window and leaned out, reaching out to take her parents’ hands.

Now her mother was covering her full face with her apron, trying to stifle sobs. Her father took her hand and just nodded as he couldn’t find the words to speak.

“All hail,” one of the drivers shouted. “Ho, ho…” He snapped the reins and the horses strained on the harnesses to start the carriage rolling.

“Good-bye, good-bye,” Lydia shouted as she strained to see them before her parents disappeared.

“Godspeed,” her father called out, and the carriage turned the bend leading out of the village and she could see them no more.

Lydia, back in her seat, took out her handkerchief, held it up to her eyes and pressed hard to help staunch the flow of tears.

After a short while, she was able to compose herself and she looked around the carriage. There were two other passengers—a middle-aged mother and her - what looked to be - ten or eleven year-old daughter.

“Are you traveling far?” the woman asked Lydia.

“To Shropshire,” Lydia answered.

“Oh, that will take several days will it not?”

Lydia nodded.

The woman rummaged in a large traveling bag. “Would you like an oatmeal and raisin biscuit? I made them for the journey. They are my Cynthia’s favorite. Oh, I am Betsy, and this is my daughter, Cynthia.”

“I am Lydia Fernside.”

“Pleasure,” Betsy answered.

“Thank you, but I am not hungry just now. I am still a bit upset about leaving my parents and my home.” Lydia said.

“Oh, I am sorry. That must be difficult,” she said as she handed her daughter the biscuit.

“It is.”

“Where are you going in Shropshire?” She closed her bag and set it on the seat between her and her daughter.

“Upton Magna. I am staying with my great-aunt.”

“For an extended visit?”

“Permanently. It is to be my new home.”

“Oh, my. That is a big change. Are you very fond of your aunt?”

“I have never met her. But she is kindly taking me in. She is elderly and I will be looking after her.”

“That is very kind of you.”

“Oh no, it is she who is being kind. My sisters are married and it seems it is time for me to be out in the world and earning my living.”

“You are not engaged, then?” Betsy asked, with just the slightest hint of disapproval.

“I am not,” Lydia answered firmly, and with no hint of an apology.

“Well, perhaps you will meet a suitable gentleman in Upton Magna. It is quite a lively community with many respectable citizens. I am sure your aunt will be able to introduce to many suitable gentlemen.”

“Anything is possible.”

Lydia had had quite enough of this conversation, and she turned and stared out the window at the passing countryside. Soon they entered another village and the carriage slowed down and stopped.

A new passenger boarded—an elderly, and rather heavyset, gentleman. And as the carriage started up again he introduced himself.

“Ladies,” he said, tipping his hat. “I hope you have had a pleasant journey thus far.”

Betsy nodded. “Agreeable enough. And where may you be heading, sir, if you do not mind me asking?”

“Not at all. I am on my way to visit the Duke of Shropshire, Edwin Templeton. Do you know him, perhaps?”

“I am not of that area,” Betsy said, “But our traveling companion, Miss Fernside, will be residing in Upton Magna, quite near the Duke’s residence, Honeyfield Hall.”

“Indeed. But you must excuse me. Let me introduce myself. I am Doctor Bernard Winston, at your service, ladies.

“Betsy Butley, and my daughter Cynthia.”

“Ladies.” He tipped his hat once again.

“Miss Fernside,” Lydia said in greeting.

“And you are from Upton Magna,” he said. “Then you must know His Grace, the Duke.”

“I am afraid I do not. This is my first visit,” she responded.

“Ah… Then you are in for a most pleasant surprise. It is quite a charming village.”

“And you are a Doctor of…” Betsy asked.

“Philosophy. I am a professor at Trinity College, Oxford. Latin, Greek, and classics.”

“Do you know His Grace well?” Betsy asked. “I understand he only recently inherited his title.”

“Quite so. Unfortunately, the old Duke passed away less than a year ago. And the young Duke is still finding his bearings.”

“Have you come on business with the Duke?” Betsy asked.

“He was my student. It is just a friendly visit.”

“How nice that you have been able to keep close ties,” Betsy continued. “So many young men these days just fritter away their educational opportunities in partying, drinking and... other activities, she said discretely.

“Quite unlike the Duke, I assure you,” the Doctor said rather firmly.

Lydia did not wish to engage in this conversation as she observed that Mrs. Butley seemed to be more interested in gossip than serious enquiry. And it appeared that Doctor Winston felt the same, as he soon withdrew into reading a book.

The rest of the day’s journey was mostly uneventful. Lydia was still too upset to enjoy any of the food her mother had prepared, but she thought she might have that for dinner and not need to spend any money the rest of the day.

Just before dark, the carriage arrived at the Post House Inn

where they were to spend the night. This was the final destination for Mrs. Butley and her daughter and they bid farewell

Dr. Winston invited Lydia to dine with him in the Inn’s dining room, but she declined, as she was still emotionally distraught and extremely exhausted after the long day’s journey.

Later that evening she ordered a barley water from the dining room, ate a cheese sandwich, and retired to bed quite early.