“Anyone can have an accident, Mr. Darcy, and I would prefer it not be my fiancé weeks before our wedding,” she scolded. “I shan’t argue your skill as a horseman. That is evident even to my untrained eye. Just try to show a bit of restraint, please? For me?”
“I promise to be cautious. Or at the least not to frighten with my exploits while you are watching.”
“That is not the same thing, sir!”
“No, I suppose not,” Darcy agreed, grinning. Then he kissed her forehead. “You really must trust me, Elizabeth. I can handle Parsifal, and he is my friend so would never do anything foolish to jeopardize my safety. At the risk of annoying you with my arrogant boasting, if there is one special talent I possess, it is as a horseman. My grandfather said it was in my blood.”
He gently steered her to the shade of the willows, his voice pitched low and soothing. She seemed calmer, no longer scowled or trembled, and the color was back in her cheeks. Best of all, her curiosity had been piqued, not that this had been his intention, but better to talk about Pemberley, even with the painful memories attached, than receive an additional tongue lashing for his recklessness.
“You have hinted to an unusual affinity for horses but have never mentioned your grandfather. Was he a skilled horseman like you?”
A long-ago fallen willow tree served as a perfect seat, and Darcy joined Elizabeth there as he answered, speaking slowly. “I can only pray to someday be as skilled as my grandfather was. Horses were his passion. Of course, Pemberley itself was his passion, but with thoroughbreds a major aspect of the estate, his focus was there.”
“I did not realize this—about Pemberley and thoroughbreds, I mean.”
Darcy was startled, his brows lifting. “Have I never mentioned our horses?”
“No, Mr. Darcy, you have not. In fact, you are irritatingly vague whenever I ask about your past or Pemberley.”
Darcy heard the edginess underneath the teasing tone and reached across the two feet separating them to clasp one of her hands. “Forgive me, Elizabeth. My greatest desire is to know more of you and your life, and you have expressed the same from me. I do not mean to be secretive, truly. I confess it is…taxing for me to talk about myself, especially areas involving my grief. Please be patient.”
“You do not need to tell me anything you are uncomfortable with, William. We have plenty of time for that.” She squeezed his hand. “Start with what is easiest. Tell me about your horses.”
Darcy silently stared at their entwined hands. Why is it so hard to share my innermost thoughts? Do I not trust Elizabeth? He did trust her to never betray his confidence. She had proven to be trustworthy by never speaking a word about Georgiana and Mr. Wickham.
No, it was that, since a young boy, Darcy had kept his emotions tightly bound. He rarely exposed himself and grieved in solitude. He was an intensely private person, increasingly so as he grew into adulthood and assumed the responsibilities of managing Pemberley. The yearning for a bond like the one shared by his parents had weighed heavy upon his heart for over a decade, and certain as he was that his relationship with Elizabeth had the potential to be as cohesive, Darcy could not instantly overcome years of locked away emotions. Nor could he miraculously become an extrovert.
Perhaps it is a lack of trust, Darcy grudgingly admitted. He had given Elizabeth a large portion of his heart freely; it was a risky venture, as he had agonizingly learned when she rejected him, the pain crippling. Loving another person went hand in hand with vulnerability, and vulnerability was one trait a man in Darcy’s position must steel against. Paradoxically, he was learning that love made one stronger.
To love fully, one must trust. So, he inhaled and plunged ahead.
“When we get to Pemberley, I will show you more of my family history. We have the tapestries, which you saw, that outline our family tree. But the library houses dozens of journals and ledgers, the scribblings of my ancestors that recount, in pieces, our past. Not the most riveting reading, but it can be interesting—or useful in putting you to sleep.”
He winked and then stretched out his long legs. Keeping hold of Elizabeth’s hand, he resumed his narrative. “Where to start with Pemberley? Well, like most English estates, agriculture and livestock form the basis of our wealth, and have since the beginning. However, upon occasion, a daring Darcy has delved into other enterprises.
“For instance, about a hundred years ago, my several-greats-grandfather, Antony Darcy, had a talent and passion for metal work and weapons. He crafted some of the finest blades in England and increased Pemberley’s fortune considerably. We have a collection in the armory, and a few are priceless.
“Then there was Antony Darcy’s grandmother, an extraordinary painter, of landscapes primarily. Several hang in honored places at home. Most were sold as she painted them, on commission or in a gallery, and for a high price. Recently one of my ancestor’s rare portraits sold at Christie’s for two hundred pounds. I know, because I bought it. She signed her unmarried name”—he paused, closely watching Elizabeth’s face—“Clara Steen.”
Her eyes popped. “Clara Steen was your grandmother?”
“Several generations removed, but yes.”
“Her paintings are brilliant! We have one in our dining room!”
“Yes, I know. One of her early works, but, as you say, brilliant.”
“Why did you never say anything?”
Darcy shrugged. “I presumed the subject would be broached naturally in due course, and it was. It is her claim to greatness, not mine. I cannot draw a straight line, so clearly that talent was not passed to me. I only brought it up now to show that the Darcys have historically been an eclectic bunch—unafraid to take risks when necessary, inclined to fulfill their passions, and, if possible, turn them into profit for the estate. Not all have been successful, mind you. Various crop ideas did not reap as hoped for, and certain investments never materialized favorably.
“Fortunately, every Master of Pemberley down through the centuries kept a firm grasp on the staples to maintain moving forward, no matter the losses. Because of this, the estate’s yearly income and accumulated worth results from diverse sources. I have not memorized all the past financial ledgers, but there is little doubt that in the last century, it was my grandfather’s foray into the breeding of thoroughbreds that impacted Pemberley most profoundly.”
He went on to tell her how his father, after completing his Cambridge education, assumed the management of the estate, while his father, James Senior, devoted all of his energies toward their horses. Within a decade, their stock had doubled, and the wealth of Pemberley close to tripled.
“Any gentleman worth his salt can ride a horse,” Darcy stated firmly. “If they cannot, well, pardon my prejudice, but they are lacking in character. For my grandfather, it was much, much more than that. It was as if he could read the mind of a horse. Any horse. I know it sounds fanciful, Elizabeth, yet that is the truth of it. His gift transcended the normal.”
He shook himself out of dreamy memories of his beloved grandfather, smiling sheepishly at Elizabeth, who was softly smiling and stroking his hand in the most delightful way. “He always said I had the same gift. ‘Born in a saddle,’ he would say—not literally, fortunately for my dear mother, but close. In fact, my father told me that grandfather took me to the stables when I was only a few months old, propped me on the back of his prized stallion, Leonidas, and walked us around the yard. A right of passage, I suppose.”
“It must have worked, because you obviously inherited his passionate love for horses. Can you read their minds too?”
Darcy chuckled at her jest. “Not in general. I do feel one with certain horses, especially my mounts.” He gestured toward the wandering Parsifal. “Parsifal was sired by my first stallion, Pericles, and he was sired by my grandfather’s, Leonidas. Only the best bloodlines for Darcy men. In each case, Parsifal and Pericles, I made their acquaintance shortly after they were born. A unique bond forms between a man and his horse when devoted e
ntirely to each other. I ride other horses if I must, but I prefer Parsifal.”
Elizabeth was staring at the black horse with an odd expression. Darcy lifted her chin with his fingertips. “What are you thinking?”
“Only that I wish I possessed even a tiny affinity for horses. I hope you are not disappointed, William, but I am somewhat afraid of them. I am not sure why—”
Her words were cut off when he kissed her. “There is nothing about you that is disappointing to me, Elizabeth. Nothing.”
He hovered a scant inch away from her lips, which chose that moment to part. Then she nervously touched the tip of her tongue to the upper lip, and he almost snapped. He probably would have, drawing her into his arms and kissing hungrily until they were forced apart to breathe, but she pulled back and whispered tremulously, “I see the inner workings of Pemberley are more complex than I imagined. I have much to learn.”
“I have no expectation that you understand the business side of things or be involved. Those are my responsibilities.”
She gazed at him, eyes serious but sparkling with a hint of humor, perhaps it was—or maybe defiance? He was uncertain so remained silent.
“From the time I was very young, I would sit with Papa in his study. Usually I quietly read while he read or attended to business. Occasionally I would ask questions, always curious about something, and as I grew older, I started asking him what he was reading or working on. My favorite discussions were when we had read the same book, and we would argue some point or another. It took me a while to figure out that often he was disagreeing with me simply so I would formulate a rebuttal. Now you know how I developed that habit.”
“I must thank Mr. Bennet, since it is a habit of yours I appreciate.”
“Good to know, Mr. Darcy, as I intend to argue with you now.”
Darcy lifted his brow. “Oh? Thank you for the warning.”
“You see,” she went on, ignoring his comment, “as I asked questions of Papa, he began to tell me about Longbourn. Bits here, pieces there. Our estate is nothing compared to Pemberley, and I regret to admit that Papa has not been a keen manager. His books are more important to him, so he trusts the day-to-day affairs to his men. Still, I learned as we talked about farming and the animals and finances. I suppose I was as close to a son as Papa had. I adored our discussions and debates, and a few times helped solved a problem for him. Eventually Mama realized Papa was teaching me the business, albeit somewhat unconsciously, and she became furious. She said he was filling my mind with useless nonsense for a lady. According to Mama, it was a detriment—too much knowledge, too much reading of books and newspapers, too much encouragement to debate. Unhealthy traits for a female, and unattractive to men of quality.”
“That, you must know, is untrue for me.”
“Yes, I believe it is important to you to have a woman of intellect and will. I did not see that at first, but now I do, and it is one reason I love you, William.”
“Then we are not arguing after all,” he grinned.
“Not so fast.” She wagged her finger. “I have not finished. I think Mama was correct, in that a large portion of the male population thinks that way about women. What was the saddest revelation to me was that because she believed this to be true, she and Papa had little to talk about. I…it would be unkind of me to speak of my parents’ relationship. All I know is that I have wanted more for myself. I vowed that if I married, it must be to a man who respected my opinions, maybe even sought them if it was helpful. I do not want a husband who is afraid or unwilling to let me be privy to his world. If not quite a partner, I want to at least understand your responsibilities, William, and be your support.”
Darcy curled one palm over her cheek. “Elizabeth, as I said, nothing about you is disappointing to me. Listen carefully. I held no expectations, but I did have hopes. Your words have exceeded my hopes. I value your opinion and am amazed at your intellect. I need your support and welcome it. Thank you, for daily proving how perfect you are for me.”
“You agree so hastily, sir, giving me no opportunity to engage in a serious argument. What a tragedy.”
“Next time, I promise to follow Mr. Bennet’s example and offer a differing opinion purposely to rile you. How does that sound?”
“Or we could rehash our debate over which is more scandalous, a woman reading Mary Robinson or Lord Byron.”
Laughing, Darcy stood, pulling Elizabeth with him. “Perhaps another time. Today is far too lovely to spoil with an argument, especially one you are doomed to lose.”
“Is that so? In that case, we are duty bound to resume the debate, but I shall acquiesce to postpone. It will allot you time to hone your defense.”
“Thank you. I deem I shall need to do so. Stay here a moment.” He pressed lightly on her shoulder, and then walked a few feet away. Suddenly a shrill whistle rent the air and Parsifal, grazing happily yards down the sloping hill, lifted his head. A brief toss and flick of his tail indicated his annoyance at being disturbed, but he swiftly galloped toward his beckoning master.
“Are you leaving?”
“Not unless you wish me to.” Darcy glanced over his shoulder, pleasure radiating through his body when she shook her head vehemently. “I wanted to introduce you formally to Parsifal—I promise he will not hurt you—and I have apples and blackberries in my bag that are delicious. They grow wild in a sheltered dell about a mile from here, next to a creek. We stop there to rest and I always take a few extras with me. Parsifal likes the small, squishy apples the best. Come.” Darcy extended his hand to Elizabeth, steady and patient as she hesitated before grasping it and stepping closer.
“The key is to advance slowly,” Darcy explained as she joined him. Pitching his voice low and tranquil, he brought her close to his side, their hands laced together, while he stroked the stallion’s immense neck with his free hand. “You want to approach from the side. Their vision is unique from ours, their eyes focusing independently and with a delay in processing. That is why they startle easily and become defensive, which is frightening if you are not expecting it. Remember, horses are prey animals, meaning that while powerful and able to inflict pain, it is not in their nature to attack. They are inherently gentle, not aggressive. Parsifal hates for me to tell others this, but he is a lamb under that gruff exterior.”
“I shall not breathe a word to anyone, Parsifal. I promise.”
“There, you hear that Parsifal? She can be trusted.” Darcy scratched between the funnel-shaped black ears, each one twitching and twisting as he spoke. Fluidly, Parsifal turned his head toward Elizabeth, both eyes swiveling to stare at her face, and he released a mellifluous nicker.
“That is his form of a greeting,” Darcy interpreted when Elizabeth jerked. “Parsifal, allow me to introduce Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Hertfordshire. This beautiful woman has agreed to become my wife and will soon reside with us at Pemberley. I daresay you will see her from time to time. Here”—he lifted their joined hands, Elizabeth’s on top—“let him smell you. Like many animals, horses identify through scent more so than the other senses.”
Darcy did not push Elizabeth much further. She was outwardly calm and ran her hand over the stallion’s muscled neck and withers, but he felt her nervousness. After feeding Parsifal two of the overripe apples he loved, Darcy instructed him to go back to his wanderings and slapped him playfully on the rump.
“He is majestic, William. Powerful, handsome, and elegant. He…suits you.”
Elizabeth flushed and lowered her head. If not for her embarrassed reaction, Darcy would not have realized her description of Parsifal was also meant for him. For several heartbeats he was tongue-tied. He swiftly searched his memory and concluded this was her first compliment addressing his physical attributes—unless he counted how she audaciously examined his body when he rode up to the willow trees. And it was best to deter his musings about that .
“This spot…with the willows and the…view”—he swept his arm in a general easterly direction—“is
lovely. Secluded yet not dangerously so. How far is Longbourn from here?”
“A half mile or so, I believe. The road is over there.” Elizabeth pointed to a distant line, proceeding to indicate landmarks familiar to Darcy, as he would have recognized instantly if not so flustered. The sudden recognition of just how secluded the area was, was provocative…and perilous. So much for the scenery being a mundane subject!
“And to answer your question when you arrived, yes, I do come here often. Willow Bench has been one of my favored hideaways since I was quite young.”
“Willow Bench?”
Elizabeth laughed. “Not clever, I know, but apt. I was ten or perhaps eleven when I first walked this far and saw the willows. How the six trees grew in a circle with their limbs draped to the ground, forming a shrouded lair was, to a fanciful girl, a magical place.”
They returned to the trees, many of the yellowing leaves fallen, so the lair effect was diminished, and Lizzy pointed to the dead willow log. “It was already fallen when I found this place, and my thought was, ‘Oh, how nice, there is a bench for me to sit on.’ So this place became Willow Bench.”
She sat on the surface smoothed from unknown years of erosion and cushioned with a small, quilted blanket, and ate the juicy berries one by one. Darcy leaned against one of the willows, stared at the autumn landscape, and bit into an apple. He remained acutely aware of her presence and the effect she had upon him, but the peaceful atmosphere was hypnotic. Gradually he relaxed, realizing how uniquely gratifying it was to simply be with her in silent accord. A fleeting glance showed she too was staring placidly at the vista, not a hint of uneasiness apparent.
Later, upon reflection, Darcy would mark this time as a significant leap in their relationship. Bit by bit, they learned more about the other, and that knowledge created a growing comfortableness that warmed his heart. Oh, how he longed for the day when their minds, bodies, and souls were one!
“Elizabeth, I am not sure if I adequately apologized to you for…everything…that I said and did…before. I do, apologize, that is, down to the depths of my soul.”
Darcy & Elizabeth: A Season of Courtship (Darcy Saga Prequel Duo) Page 16