Lydia swatted at his chest with her fan. “I am an old married woman, sir.”

Knowing she expected a compliment, he murmured,“You may be married, ma’am, but you most certainly are not old nor are you the picture of matronliness.” He nodded in the direction of the sleeping woman and then winked at Lydia.

Lydia giggled, suddenly aware of the privacy of their conversation. She turned her attention to the coach’s window. “I certainly do not enjoy traveling in winter. The roads in the North were abhorrent—so many ruts and holes. Passengers could barely keep their seats. Thankfully, my husband kept me safe, but a lady we left in Lincolnshire tumbled most unceremoniously to the floor.”

The man’s eyes followed hers. “The farmers at home—in Cheshire—would probably say we are in for some bad weather. See how the line of dark clouds hug the horizon.” He pointed off to a distance. “I simply hope we make it to Cheshire before the storm hits. I prefer not being upon the road when Winter blasts us with her best.” He leaned back and closed his eyes.“We will stay in Matlock this evening.You should be in Lambton by mid-afternoon tomorrow.”

“I will be pleased to be away from this coach,” Lydia murmured as she settled into the well-worn cushions.

As the man drifted off to sleep, he managed to say, “You will have the best that money can buy at Pemberley.”

“Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth said. She had found her husband in his study.“Georgiana and I plan to call on some of the cottagers today.” She stood before his desk, looking down at the stack of ledgers piled five high. “I thought you might care to join us, but I see that you are busy.”

“I am afraid this business cannot be postponed.” He gestured to the many letters lying open before him.