My dear friends, although I know I will be missing England, its comforts and sweet familiarity, the feeling of being on the open sea and on the edge of a great adventure is so exhilarating that I am sure I will not sleep a wink from Dover to Rome. Every morning, I consider my happiness and how little I have done to merit such an uncommonly disproportionate share of blessings; to-day more than ever, I thank you again and again for your wisdom in not going to the Lakes, and for your kindness which secured me the best of blessings; I am the happiest of women and the most fortunate of wives.

My husband beckons me to come to the relief of poor Georgiana. I seal this along with all of our love to you both and to the rest of your family, and an assurance that the absence of your indispensable selves is already much regretted.

Your loving and grateful niece,

ELIZABETH DARCY

Mr. Darcy had been reading Chesterfield’s Letters to his Son aloud to Georgiana in her cabin. All of the passengers aboard were suffering the sea-sickness to some extent, but she was most discomposed, finding the sailing thoroughly unpleasant. The sachet of bay salts had failed to relieve her sickness, and her brother had next resorted to a draught of quince and lemon peel; she was happily now feeling almost up to the journey from her cabin to join the company in the saloon, where they were to be served their dinner. Elizabeth had thought it prudent not to mention the appalling cooking conditions of the galley, wisely preferring to keep her knowledge of the communal pot-boilers to herself. In any case, her descriptions were unnecessary, as they were all pleasantly surprised when their dinner arrived in a form quite palatable. Georgiana ate but little, and, after a few minutes, made her excuses and returned to her cabin to rest before their arrival in France.

Darcy asked Elizabeth if she would like to join him above for her first view of France; she assented with unalloyed joy as she took her husband’s arm and bade him take her up onto the deck. Reaching the railing, her first impression was that they had been returned to Dover! Along the shore they saw men cleaning nets, fishing-boats laying at anchor, and horse-carts carrying in the day’s catch. However, in the next instant she could see that the colour of the people’s cloathes had changed: whereas the Dovermen uniformly wore light and dark-brown cloathing, with a bit of blue or red in their kerchiefs, the Frenchmen were chiefly dressed in bright reds and blues. Elizabeth could not immediately determine if the gay colours of their skirts and trousers made them appear more animated, or if their movements and countenances were actually more lively than were their English counter-parts.