Chapter 11
If audio player doesn't work, press Stop then Play button again
She laughed, amused but tired, and then started at a sudden thought. "What about my horse Mark? She took a stone and has bruised her foot I think, though she didn't seem to mind it this morning. I'm not sure about making her run with us all the way to London?"
Mark looked at her with a bemused expression, "I hadn't planned to take your horse along. She can rest here, and then be brought to town later?" he suggested.
Elizabeth hesitated, before saying, "It has occurred to me, while traveling, that in addition to the coat, bag and hat, I've possibly stolen my horse?"
"Why?" asked Mark.
"Because, although she is mine, technically she belongs to my father?" Elizabeth replied.
"I see, well then, if she must be returned that can also be arranged later," he said.
"I should visit the stable before we go, and acquaint your grooms with her foibles," Elizabeth suggested firmly.
"Alright," he replied, and they visited the stable while the coach was made ready.
Entering into a dimness that contrasted with the bright mid-day courtyard outside the stable, Elizabeth's eyes adjusted quickly and she saw that her horse was being hand fed by a somewhat stout looking groom.
"Cozening up to your new servants already, Lady Whiffles?" Elizabeth called out.
"Lady Whiffles?" inquired the Marques in an amused tone.
Elizabeth flushed. "I didn't name her," she protested, but then ruined it a little by adding, "but I didn't insist on renaming her either. It sort of suits her."
"If she tries to bite anyone," Elizabeth addressed the groom authoritatively, "you must make sure no one pays her any attention for the rest of the day. For she only does it when she's bored, and we've found that trying to train her out of it doesn't work, as she enjoys the training. But in the following days, if you could increase her exercise and training time, to keep her occupied..." Elizabeth trailed off.
The man nodded his understanding. The groom, or rather Lord Waverly's Master of Horse, had somehow already acquired the news that this horse belonged to the future Lady of his Lord, in the mysterious way of good servants. He was in charge of all the Waverly horses and their records.
He was quick to suggest to the couple invading his territory, that perhaps now would be the ideal time to breed the mare. A somewhat possessive gleam already lit his eyes. Elizabeth's mare was an intelligent, energetic thing, with a pretty conformation.
He pointed out that the mare would still be rideable 'till the end of this London season, and available to ride again as early as next mid winter. He awaited the answer hopefully.
Glancing at Mark, Elizabeth replied "I don't think we ought, at least not until we find out if she'll remain mine."
The Marques agreed. Some further details of habits and care were discussed, the possible bruised foot mentioned, and then Mark led Elizabeth to the now waiting coach, already loaded for the journey, and they loaded themselves as well.
--
Lord Mark Waverly, Elizabeth, and Andrew rode within the coach. At first the conversation mainly consisted of a discussion between Andrew and his Lord on bits of correspondence. Andrew had a cunning lap desk, and began writing out the correspondences agreed upon, as they traveled.
"That's amazing!" exclaimed Elizabeth gazing across admiringly. "Um, Andrew I mean," she explained to the curious looks of her companions.
"Mr. Fyording to you," snapped the Marques.
Surprised, and a little taken aback, Elizabeth acquiesced. "Mr. Fyording, sorry, I should have asked."
Andrew cast an enigmatic look at his employer, and replied, "I don't mind. What's amazing?"
"That you can write so neatly while we are traveling!" Elizabeth explained. "For Papa insists that it's nearly impossible to write in a coach, and always makes horribly messy notes that he rewrites, or has written up after he arrives at his destination."
"I see," Andrew responded. "Well, I probably have the advantage in that this is a very well sprung coach, and that I've traveled this portion of the road while writing many times."
The conversation was allowed to lapse. After a while, Elizabeth was struck once more by a wave of weariness. "Mark?" She asked.
"Yes?" the Marques replied.
"I'm suddenly very tired again, do you think I would be too heavy and may I lean on you, or should I wedge myself into the corner?" she inquired uncertainly.
Frowning a little, he asked, "How about if I wedge myself into the corner, and then you lean upon me, then you can both rest against me and have a little more room to stretch out?"
She agreed to this plan and was shortly asleep in his arms. Lord Waverly was not asleep however, and was subjected to occasional amused glances from Andrew Fyording.
--
A couple of hours later, Elizabeth woke with a start, followed by a sudden wave of nausea. "Mark," she said plaintively, "I think I'm..." And then she bolted from his arms, toward the door.
"Stop the coach!" cried both her companions together.
She opened the door, fell to her knees, and leaned out over the road. Mark grabbed her from behind, and tried to draw her back. But she struggled, and vomited out the door.
"Stop the damned coach already!" demanded Lord Waverly.
"They are," said Elizabeth a little weakly. The ground outside was passing noticeably slower already. Slowly the coach slid to a halt.
"I wasn't going to jump out," she tried to reassure him.
Mark wasn't reassured.
They climbed out and stood at the edge of the road for a bit. Elizabeth examined her slippers ruefully and said, "I ought to have just worn my riding boots. Do we have anything I could rinse my mouth with?"
Mark replied somewhat grimly, "I'll find something." He approached their driver. "Baird," he said, "lend me your flask."
"But my Lord," the man protested.
A little wearily, Lord Waverly insisted, "I know you only carry it for when your leg aches too much on long journeys, and it's never been a problem, so please, hand it over."
"But my Lord, it'll be too strong for the lass!" insisted the driver.
"She needn't drink the stuff," replied Lord Waverly, with a trace of amusement.
"Aight" was the reply, and the illicit flask handed over.
"Just a sip to rinse with," Mark warned her.
She raised it to her mouth and sipped cautiously. It burned like liquid fire. She swished it quickly and spat to the side of the road. And coughed. When she had recovered, her eyes still watering, she said, "Well, that gets rid of the taste quickly. But I think I'd prefer tea?"
Mark laughed a little and said, "Then we'll try to acquire a bottle at the inn nearest." Concerned he asked, "Will you be alright to go on, should we go back?"
Elizabeth asked, "How far have we come?"
"We're a little less than halfway, I believe," was his answer.
Elizabeth somewhat ruefully replied, "I think we may as well go on then, for if we returned we'd travel nearly as long, and have to do it over again tomorrow." She added, "I'm usually never carriage sick, I think it's just because I slept. I won't sleep again." She paused and looked down at herself, and then said, "I'm alright apart from my attire. I knelt in the dust at the bottom of the coach, and my slippers are covered in it too." She patted her hair, checking the pins, out of habit.
Mark helped brush what dust he could from her skirt and helped her back into the carriage. The journey resumed.
"I think," said the Marques a little farther on, "that we ought to just present you as my wife while we are traveling." He explained to his companions, "It will be true soon enough, and prevent later questions when we travel through these areas after we are wed."
The company agreed.
Please report us if you find any errors so we can fix it asap!
She laughed, amused but tired, and then started at a sudden thought. "What about my horse Mark? She took a stone and has bruised her foot I think, though she didn't seem to mind it this morning. I'm not sure about making her run with us all the way to London?"
Mark looked at her with a bemused expression, "I hadn't planned to take your horse along. She can rest here, and then be brought to town later?" he suggested.
Elizabeth hesitated, before saying, "It has occurred to me, while traveling, that in addition to the coat, bag and hat, I've possibly stolen my horse?"
"Why?" asked Mark.
"Because, although she is mine, technically she belongs to my father?" Elizabeth replied.
"I see, well then, if she must be returned that can also be arranged later," he said.
"I should visit the stable before we go, and acquaint your grooms with her foibles," Elizabeth suggested firmly.
"Alright," he replied, and they visited the stable while the coach was made ready.
Entering into a dimness that contrasted with the bright mid-day courtyard outside the stable, Elizabeth's eyes adjusted quickly and she saw that her horse was being hand fed by a somewhat stout looking groom.
"Cozening up to your new servants already, Lady Whiffles?" Elizabeth called out.
"Lady Whiffles?" inquired the Marques in an amused tone.
Elizabeth flushed. "I didn't name her," she protested, but then ruined it a little by adding, "but I didn't insist on renaming her either. It sort of suits her."
"If she tries to bite anyone," Elizabeth addressed the groom authoritatively, "you must make sure no one pays her any attention for the rest of the day. For she only does it when she's bored, and we've found that trying to train her out of it doesn't work, as she enjoys the training. But in the following days, if you could increase her exercise and training time, to keep her occupied..." Elizabeth trailed off.
The man nodded his understanding. The groom, or rather Lord Waverly's Master of Horse, had somehow already acquired the news that this horse belonged to the future Lady of his Lord, in the mysterious way of good servants. He was in charge of all the Waverly horses and their records.
He was quick to suggest to the couple invading his territory, that perhaps now would be the ideal time to breed the mare. A somewhat possessive gleam already lit his eyes. Elizabeth's mare was an intelligent, energetic thing, with a pretty conformation.
He pointed out that the mare would still be rideable 'till the end of this London season, and available to ride again as early as next mid winter. He awaited the answer hopefully.
Glancing at Mark, Elizabeth replied "I don't think we ought, at least not until we find out if she'll remain mine."
The Marques agreed. Some further details of habits and care were discussed, the possible bruised foot mentioned, and then Mark led Elizabeth to the now waiting coach, already loaded for the journey, and they loaded themselves as well.
--
Lord Mark Waverly, Elizabeth, and Andrew rode within the coach. At first the conversation mainly consisted of a discussion between Andrew and his Lord on bits of correspondence. Andrew had a cunning lap desk, and began writing out the correspondences agreed upon, as they traveled.
"That's amazing!" exclaimed Elizabeth gazing across admiringly. "Um, Andrew I mean," she explained to the curious looks of her companions.
"Mr. Fyording to you," snapped the Marques.
Surprised, and a little taken aback, Elizabeth acquiesced. "Mr. Fyording, sorry, I should have asked."
Andrew cast an enigmatic look at his employer, and replied, "I don't mind. What's amazing?"
"That you can write so neatly while we are traveling!" Elizabeth explained. "For Papa insists that it's nearly impossible to write in a coach, and always makes horribly messy notes that he rewrites, or has written up after he arrives at his destination."
"I see," Andrew responded. "Well, I probably have the advantage in that this is a very well sprung coach, and that I've traveled this portion of the road while writing many times."
The conversation was allowed to lapse. After a while, Elizabeth was struck once more by a wave of weariness. "Mark?" She asked.
"Yes?" the Marques replied.
"I'm suddenly very tired again, do you think I would be too heavy and may I lean on you, or should I wedge myself into the corner?" she inquired uncertainly.
Frowning a little, he asked, "How about if I wedge myself into the corner, and then you lean upon me, then you can both rest against me and have a little more room to stretch out?"
She agreed to this plan and was shortly asleep in his arms. Lord Waverly was not asleep however, and was subjected to occasional amused glances from Andrew Fyording.
--
A couple of hours later, Elizabeth woke with a start, followed by a sudden wave of nausea. "Mark," she said plaintively, "I think I'm..." And then she bolted from his arms, toward the door.
"Stop the coach!" cried both her companions together.
She opened the door, fell to her knees, and leaned out over the road. Mark grabbed her from behind, and tried to draw her back. But she struggled, and vomited out the door.
"Stop the damned coach already!" demanded Lord Waverly.
"They are," said Elizabeth a little weakly. The ground outside was passing noticeably slower already. Slowly the coach slid to a halt.
"I wasn't going to jump out," she tried to reassure him.
Mark wasn't reassured.
They climbed out and stood at the edge of the road for a bit. Elizabeth examined her slippers ruefully and said, "I ought to have just worn my riding boots. Do we have anything I could rinse my mouth with?"
Mark replied somewhat grimly, "I'll find something." He approached their driver. "Baird," he said, "lend me your flask."
"But my Lord," the man protested.
A little wearily, Lord Waverly insisted, "I know you only carry it for when your leg aches too much on long journeys, and it's never been a problem, so please, hand it over."
"But my Lord, it'll be too strong for the lass!" insisted the driver.
"She needn't drink the stuff," replied Lord Waverly, with a trace of amusement.
"Aight" was the reply, and the illicit flask handed over.
"Just a sip to rinse with," Mark warned her.
She raised it to her mouth and sipped cautiously. It burned like liquid fire. She swished it quickly and spat to the side of the road. And coughed. When she had recovered, her eyes still watering, she said, "Well, that gets rid of the taste quickly. But I think I'd prefer tea?"
Mark laughed a little and said, "Then we'll try to acquire a bottle at the inn nearest." Concerned he asked, "Will you be alright to go on, should we go back?"
Elizabeth asked, "How far have we come?"
"We're a little less than halfway, I believe," was his answer.
Elizabeth somewhat ruefully replied, "I think we may as well go on then, for if we returned we'd travel nearly as long, and have to do it over again tomorrow." She added, "I'm usually never carriage sick, I think it's just because I slept. I won't sleep again." She paused and looked down at herself, and then said, "I'm alright apart from my attire. I knelt in the dust at the bottom of the coach, and my slippers are covered in it too." She patted her hair, checking the pins, out of habit.
Mark helped brush what dust he could from her skirt and helped her back into the carriage. The journey resumed.
"I think," said the Marques a little farther on, "that we ought to just present you as my wife while we are traveling." He explained to his companions, "It will be true soon enough, and prevent later questions when we travel through these areas after we are wed."
The company agreed.
She laughed, amused but tired, and then started at a sudden thought. "What about my horse Mark? She took a stone and has bruised her foot I think, though she didn't seem to mind it this morning. I'm not sure about making her run with us all the way to London?" Mark looked at her with a bemused expression, "I hadn't planned to take your horse along. She can rest here, and then be brought to town later?" he suggested. Elizabeth hesitated, before saying, "It has occurred to me, while traveling, that in addition to the coat, bag and hat, I've possibly stolen my horse?" "Why?" asked Mark. "Because, although she is mine, technically she belongs to my father?" Elizabeth replied. "I see, well then, if she must be returned that can also be arranged later," he said. "I should visit the stable before we go, and acquaint your grooms with her foibles," Elizabeth suggested firmly. "Alright," he replied, and they visited the stable while the coach was made ready. Entering into a dimness that contrasted with the bright mid-day courtyard outside the stable, Elizabeth's eyes adjusted quickly and she saw that her horse was being hand fed by a somewhat stout looking groom. "Cozening up to your new servants already, Lady Whiffles?" Elizabeth called out. "Lady Whiffles?" inquired the Marques in an amused tone. Elizabeth flushed. "I didn't name her," she protested, but then ruined it a little by adding, "but I didn't insist on renaming her either. It sort of suits her." "If she tries to bite anyone," Elizabeth addressed the groom authoritatively, "you must make sure no one pays her any attention for the rest of the day. For she only does it when she's bored, and we've found that trying to train her out of it doesn't work, as she enjoys the training. But in the following days, if you could increase her exercise and training time, to keep her occupied..." Elizabeth trailed off. The man nodded his understanding. The groom, or rather Lord Waverly's Master of Horse, had somehow already acquired the news that this horse belonged to the future Lady of his Lord, in the mysterious way of good servants. He was in charge of all the Waverly horses and their records. He was quick to suggest to the couple invading his territory, that perhaps now would be the ideal time to breed the mare. A somewhat possessive gleam already lit his eyes. Elizabeth's mare was an intelligent, energetic thing, with a pretty conformation. He pointed out that the mare would still be rideable 'till the end of this London season, and available to ride again as early as next mid winter. He awaited the answer hopefully. Glancing at Mark, Elizabeth replied "I don't think we ought, at least not until we find out if she'll remain mine." The Marques agreed. Some further details of habits and care were discussed, the possible bruised foot mentioned, and then Mark led Elizabeth to the now waiting coach, already loaded for the journey, and they loaded themselves as well. -- Lord Mark Waverly, Elizabeth, and Andrew rode within the coach. At first the conversation mainly consisted of a discussion between Andrew and his Lord on bits of correspondence. Andrew had a cunning lap desk, and began writing out the correspondences agreed upon, as they traveled. "That's amazing!" exclaimed Elizabeth gazing across admiringly. "Um, Andrew I mean," she explained to the curious looks of her companions. "Mr. Fyording to you," snapped the Marques. Surprised, and a little taken aback, Elizabeth acquiesced. "Mr. Fyording, sorry, I should have asked." Andrew cast an enigmatic look at his employer, and replied, "I don't mind. What's amazing?" "That you can write so neatly while we are traveling!" Elizabeth explained. "For Papa insists that it's nearly impossible to write in a coach, and always makes horribly messy notes that he rewrites, or has written up after he arrives at his destination." "I see," Andrew responded. "Well, I probably have the advantage in that this is a very well sprung coach, and that I've traveled this portion of the road while writing many times." The conversation was allowed to lapse. After a while, Elizabeth was struck once more by a wave of weariness. "Mark?" She asked. "Yes?" the Marques replied. "I'm suddenly very tired again, do you think I would be too heavy and may I lean on you, or should I wedge myself into the corner?" she inquired uncertainly. Frowning a little, he asked, "How about if I wedge myself into the corner, and then you lean upon me, then you can both rest against me and have a little more room to stretch out?" She agreed to this plan and was shortly asleep in his arms. Lord Waverly was not asleep however, and was subjected to occasional amused glances from Andrew Fyording. -- A couple of hours later, Elizabeth woke with a start, followed by a sudden wave of nausea. "Mark," she said plaintively, "I think I'm..." And then she bolted from his arms, toward the door. "Stop the coach!" cried both her companions together. She opened the door, fell to her knees, and leaned out over the road. Mark grabbed her from behind, and tried to draw her back. But she struggled, and vomited out the door. "Stop the damned coach already!" demanded Lord Waverly. "They are," said Elizabeth a little weakly. The ground outside was passing noticeably slower already. Slowly the coach slid to a halt. "I wasn't going to jump out," she tried to reassure him. Mark wasn't reassured. They climbed out and stood at the edge of the road for a bit. Elizabeth examined her slippers ruefully and said, "I ought to have just worn my riding boots. Do we have anything I could rinse my mouth with?" Mark replied somewhat grimly, "I'll find something." He approached their driver. "Baird," he said, "lend me your flask." "But my Lord," the man protested. A little wearily, Lord Waverly insisted, "I know you only carry it for when your leg aches too much on long journeys, and it's never been a problem, so please, hand it over." "But my Lord, it'll be too strong for the lass!" insisted the driver. "She needn't drink the stuff," replied Lord Waverly, with a trace of amusement. "Aight" was the reply, and the illicit flask handed over. "Just a sip to rinse with," Mark warned her. She raised it to her mouth and sipped cautiously. It burned like liquid fire. She swished it quickly and spat to the side of the road. And coughed. When she had recovered, her eyes still watering, she said, "Well, that gets rid of the taste quickly. But I think I'd prefer tea?" Mark laughed a little and said, "Then we'll try to acquire a bottle at the inn nearest." Concerned he asked, "Will you be alright to go on, should we go back?" Elizabeth asked, "How far have we come?" "We're a little less than halfway, I believe," was his answer. Elizabeth somewhat ruefully replied, "I think we may as well go on then, for if we returned we'd travel nearly as long, and have to do it over again tomorrow." She added, "I'm usually never carriage sick, I think it's just because I slept. I won't sleep again." She paused and looked down at herself, and then said, "I'm alright apart from my attire. I knelt in the dust at the bottom of the coach, and my slippers are covered in it too." She patted her hair, checking the pins, out of habit. Mark helped brush what dust he could from her skirt and helped her back into the carriage. The journey resumed. "I think," said the Marques a little farther on, "that we ought to just present you as my wife while we are traveling." He explained to his companions, "It will be true soon enough, and prevent later questions when we travel through these areas after we are wed." The company agreed.
