by Jennifer Joy
And now, he was in Hertfordshire to ingratiate himself with the Lucases. He would have to try harder to behave the charming gentleman and thus gain their confidence. The success of his mission depended upon it. His prompt return to his sister and Pemberley lay in the balance.
Taking a deep breath of fresh air, Darcy pushed his horse forward to the top of the knoll, wishing the time between now and the assembly would pass with merciful speed.
He heard the pounding of hooves in an alternate rhythm to that of his own steed. They grew louder the closer he came to the top of the rise. Darcy veered off the path to allow the approaching galloper the right-of-way, avoiding the puddles slick with mud and regretting his choice when his horse had no other option but to trample a cluster of orchids shaped like white and green butterflies. Oxford Orchid. The name popped into his mind unwelcome. Blast Richard! Thanks to his infernal cousin, flowers were ruined for Darcy.
Whirling around to face the path, Darcy watched in horror as the racing horse startled at his sudden movement, the mare losing her footing as her mistress lost her seat.
Several thoughts passed through Elizabeth’s mind in the split-second it took for her to fall to the sloppy ground. First and foremost, sidesaddles were an evil invention of man. Good thing she had freed her feet from the stirrup without getting too tangled in her skirts (another questionable invention when it came to riding.) Second, this never would have happened on Tempest. Third, and more important, who else was riding on her and Charlotte’s favorite path at the same early hour?
Two polished boots appeared not two feet in front of her nose. A deep, velvety voice said, “Are you hurt?”
The gloved hand that hovered by her face was so clean, Elizabeth hesitated to take it. She lifted her own hand from the slippery muck to confirm what her damp skin and garments suggested. She was covered in mud.
She looked up at the mannerly stranger, the morning sun casting an angelic halo around what she prayed was merely an apparition, a figment of her overactive imagination. The chiseled jaw, firm chin, and the arch of concern in the dark brow of the handsome man standing over her certainly fit the appearance of a dreamy hero.
Elizabeth blinked, but he did not disappear. Nor did she wake to find herself at Longbourn, tucked into her warm bed. In fact, she was getting cold. She looked down. Yes, the mud was real. The man was real. Her humiliation was real.
Clenching her fingers into fists, Elizabeth stifled a groan. What a lovely predicament she was in. As if it was not bad enough to be thrown from a horse when she considered herself a skilled horsewoman, it had been observed by a stranger who would always associate this unfavorable moment with her. That he was handsome only added to her vexation.
“Pray allow me to assist you,” he said, moving his hand closer to her.
Handsome and a perfect gentleman. The affront against Elizabeth’s vanity multiplied. And yet, reason told her she could not ignore him and remain in the puddle all day. It was a quandary made of her own foolish self-consciousness. She could not extract herself from the muck without making a worse disaster of her riding habit, but neither did she wish to dirty his pristine kid leather gloves.
Stuff and fluff, she was being ridiculous! There was nothing to do but make light of her situation. Then, maybe, the stranger would understand her blush to be the result of laughter instead of shame. Shame at her own bruised vanity (for, what import did she place on others’ opinions of her?) and for her delayed reaction. One would think she had suffered a blow to the head.
“Are you injured? Did you hit your head?” the stranger asked.
Ha ha! There it was. She could not take offense with his question when she had thought the same only a moment before. If anything, she must applaud the gentleman’s sound deduction.
By the time Elizabeth’s smile reached her eyes, it had developed a sincerity of its own, and she laughed heartily as she placed her hand in his. “I thank you, sir. I assure you the greatest injury I suffered was to my pride.”
The stranger pulled her to her feet before she could catch her breath.
Now that the sun did not blind her, she considered the gentleman. His eyes were the same color of the lapis lazuli on her brooch. Life was especially unjust against her that morning.
It became imperative that she explain. “The mud is slippery—” She cringed. Of course, mud was slippery. “And, mercifully soft.”
Elizabeth bit her lips together before she said anything else nonsensical. Maybe she had hit her head during the fall. She wiped the mud from her brooch, avoiding his gaze until she had collected enough of her dignity to look him in the eye.
The gentleman watched her. He must think her mad. Or worse, foolish. She was tempted to offer another explanation, but the twitch at the corner of his lips stopped her. Whoever he was, he was not immune to the humor of their situation. It was some comfort — enough to latch on to.
Her tension eased and her embarrassment subsided, Elizabeth felt amusement bubble up inside her.
“Lizzy!” cried Charlotte from behind her.
Elizabeth startled. She had forgotten all about Charlotte. Pulling her gaze away from the mystery man, who only then dropped her gloved fingers and stepped away, Elizabeth wondered how long he had been holding her hand. How long had she been staring into his eyes?
Her cheeks burned once again. How could she act like a moonstruck maiden in the full light of morning? Had Elizabeth observed herself, she would have poked fun at her own folly and nonsense.
Mercer gathered the mare’s reins before she stepped on them — something that only occurred to Elizabeth to do when she saw it done. Some horsewoman she was! The gentleman must think her completely inept.
She had never felt more helpless. Elizabeth did not like it one jot, and she determined not to continue in the same manner for a second more.
Defiantly avoiding so much as a peripheral gaze at the gentleman lest her senses take leave of her once again, Elizabeth turned to Charlotte. “I am well. I ought to have known there might be other riders along the path instead of charging heedlessly ahead, and now I have received my due punishment.” She pulled her mud-caked habit from her body, the further consequences of her present state chilling her like another dash of cold puddle water.
Elizabeth’s heart hammered against her ribs. “My father!” she gasped, feeling physically ill. There would be no hiding what had happened from him. The line she walked to maintain the freedom she cherished was a fine one … and she had crossed it.
The poor gentleman behind her had every right to think her a complete hoyden with abominable manners, but if she did not return to Longbourn before her family gathered in the breakfast parlor, her father would use this incident to forbid her from ever riding again. That it was her own doing smarted the worst.
Collecting the reins from Mercer and rushing him to assist her atop the dreaded sidesaddle, Elizabeth mounted, and with a heartfelt “Thank you!”, she threw an apologetic smile behind her as she took off past gaping Charlotte toward Lucas Lodge.
Of what use were polite introductions when her freedom was on the chopping block? Elizabeth determined not to concern herself about the mannerly gentleman. She had graver matters to worry about.
However, the hint of his smile stuck with Elizabeth all the way back to the stables, and the image kept up with her as she ran to Longbourn where her and Jane’s maid, Emily, paced by the washing line.
Oh dear. Elizabeth’s worst fear was unfolding before her eyes.
“Miss!” Emily gasped, inspecting Elizabeth from top to bottom and seeing the tremendous task before her.
“I am sorry. Perhaps it looks worse than it is?” Elizabeth hoped so. The habit was the only attire suitable for riding in her possession, and she had been hard-pressed to acquire it.
“It is not that, Miss. It is just that … Mr. Bennet is breaking his fast and he has already asked about you.”
Elizabeth’s heart sank. She was too late. “Drat,” she whispered.
Emily’s subsequent frown did not inspire any encouragement. “At least, clean your face, Miss,” she said, handing out a recently washed linen.
Elizabeth reached her fingers up to her cheeks, brushing off dried chunks of dirt and giving rise to the vain hope that the gentleman had not seen enough of her face to recognize her again.
Scrubbing her face, she thanked Emily. And, straightening her shoulders, Elizabeth entered the residence through the kitchen. If she could sneak through the back of the house, she might make it to the stairs without being seen. She would change into a clean morning gown and join her father in the breakfast parlor where he would not suspect anything was untoward.
Raising her finger to her lips in greeting and plea to the cook, Elizabeth tiptoed down the hall to the stairs, each step carrying her closer to the solution to her predicament.
Three more steps.
Her fingers grasped the bottom of the banister. The landing was in sight. She would take the stairs two at a time and be in her room in a trice.
This just might work!
“Lizzy? What are you doing sneaking around? Have you no pity on my poor nerves? Such tremblings all over me. Such pains in my head and beatings at heart, I can get no rest by night nor by day,” her mother whined behind her.
Elizabeth froze in place, her foot poised over the first step, her hopes of escaping notice effectively dashed. Of course, her mother would start the day earlier on the morn of the assembly where their new neighbor — a gentleman of fortune and his friend of an even greater fortune — were supposed to attend. Elizabeth would not spoil her mother’s excitement by mentioning how she had most likely chanced upon one of the two gentlemen. Mama would be thrilled, and she would want a detailed account of their meeting — a conversation which must be avoided at all costs.
Smoothing her skirts and plastering a smile on her face, Elizabeth turned, praying that her mother was alone in the room … or with her sisters … or with anyone else but Papa.
Ribbons, feathers, and dried flowers cluttered the couch where Mama sat. But, much to Elizabeth’s disappointment, she was not alone. Papa sat beside her. His eyes were fixed on his “sneaking” daughter’s muddy hem.
Elizabeth swallowed hard, rushing to allay his fears before they led him to Thomas. “As you see, I am completely unharmed, although my gown cannot claim the same,” she teased, praying her father would raise his eyes to meet hers with the mischievous twinkle he so rarely displayed since her brother’s death nearly ten years ago.
His gaze remained fixed on her hem. “You suffered an accident?” he asked, finally looking up. There were tears in his eyes.
Blast. He was thinking of Thomas.
“I daresay the mud puddle fared worse than I did, although I look the worse for it,” Elizabeth teased again.
Mama interfered. “You ought not go out alone as you do, Lizzy. We live in dangerous times! What if you met with a spy or a highwayman? Men such as them never marry,” she exclaimed, fanning her face with the bonnet she had been trimming and unraveling the ribbons braided along the brim.
Elizabeth opened her mouth to say she had not met with anyone outside of the usual, but she quickly closed her mouth before she uttered a falsehood. She was already in enough trouble, and she did not want to drag the strange gentleman into her mother’s argument.
“You will not be fit to be seen tonight, then how are you to give a favorable impression on Mr. Bingley and his friend? It falls to Jane and you, if you are so fortunate, to catch one of them. Our futures depend upon it!” The last of the bonnet’s ribbon drifted to the floor, no match against Mama’s vigorous fanning. “Such flutterings and spasms! You cannot know what I suffer.”
Elizabeth clasped her hands together. “You are right. I will be more cautious. If you give me leave, I will arrange for a bath immediately.”
As she had hoped, her mother waved Elizabeth away to see to more important matters while she returned her attention to her bonnet.
But before Elizabeth had cleared the threshold, Papa spoke. “Pray keep your promise, my Lizzy. I have already lost one child. I could not bear to lose my favorite daughter as well.”
Heartbroken tears prickled Elizabeth’s eyes and anger tightened her throat. Why must she pay for the recklessness of her brother when she was nothing like him? Could her father not see the difference?
She stood frozen in the doorway, wanting nothing more but to escape and knowing she must hear her father out first. Holding her breath, she waited for him to continue.
He said, “I aim to speak to Sir William today about this matter.”
Here it came. The moment she had dreaded since Mercer had taught her to ride along with Charlotte’s younger sisters.
Papa’s voice echoed as if he were speaking from another room, as if she were not standing a mere four paces from him. “You are not permitted to ride again. Do you understand?”
Elizabeth crossed her arms over her chest, the blow striking her harder than she had anticipated. She reached for her throat, unable to breathe.
“Oh, but, my dear,” said Mama, “Sir William will not be able to attend to you with all the preparations he must see to before the assembly tonight.”
Elizabeth was grateful to her mother for changing the topic, for once Mama got on the subject of a ball she was not easily veered away from it.
Papa sighed. It was his custom to enjoy an evening of quiet reading while the remainder of his household danced at the assembly. “Then I have no option but to attend the assembly so that I might have a word with him.”
Her throat too tight to utter a word, Elizabeth bowed her head. She backed out of the room to the steady stream of her mother’s prattle about gowns, marriageable gentlemen, and her expectations for the evening.
If only Elizabeth had not lost her seat when the mare startled. Tempest would not have shied. If only she had been riding Tempest. But Tempest belonged to Mr. Bingley now.
Closing her door, she leaned against it and slid down its length to the floor. She hoped Mr. Bingley was a kind master.
Maybe her father would reconsider. Maybe he would not speak with Sir William at all. He so rarely prohibited anything — except where she was concerned. No travel. Now, no horses. If this was her privilege for being his “favorite,” she would gladly concede the honor to any one of her sisters.
Guilt pricked her conscience. Elizabeth could not wish such an evil on any of her sisters when she wished them all as happy as she wished to be. She would find a way out of this suffocation.
Through her blurred vision, she saw a wrapped parcel on the table beside her bed. She rose to see what it was. “My Lizzy” was written on the brown paper in her father’s pen.
Elizabeth’s stomach knotted. Of all the days Papa could give her a gift, she had shown up late from her ride covered in mud. Wretched daughter she was!
Beside his gift was a letter from her aunt Gardiner. It would contain news and plans of their upcoming journey. As badly as she craved good news, Elizabeth resisted the urge to open the letter first, reaching for her father’s gift instead.
Peeling the paper off the rectangular object, Elizabeth read the title of the book. “A General Collection of the Best and Most Interesting Voyages and Travels in All Parts of the World” by John Pinkerton. The sight of it should have warmed her heart, but it made her heart sick. She had memorized the first volume before she realized what the tome stood for. Her father apparently thought that so long as she could read about the places she wished to see, she had no need of actually seeing them.
“I am never going to make it outside England,” Elizabeth whispered to herself. How could she when she had not managed to travel any farther than her uncle Gardiner’s residence in
London?
Thank goodness she had her adventure to the Peak District with Aunt and Uncle to look forward to!
She flipped the book open to its contents. Several chapters were dedicated to Derbyshire. Her heart stirred. That was one of the stops Aunt and Uncle planned to take on their travels. First, Derbyshire and the Peak District to the north. Then, the Lake District. Then, the world. Or so Elizabeth dreamed.
Setting the book back on the table, she opened Aunt Gardiner’s letter. She read the words. Then, blinking hard, she read them again. And again. They did not change no matter how she wished they would. Uncle Gardiner’s engagements were too heavy to allow for a trip to the Lake District that summer. They would have to postpone their trip until the following spring.
The following spring! That was a whole year from now. An eternity.
Elizabeth collapsed — dirty gown and all — on her bed, the brooch she traced under her fingers little consolation as disappointment gripped her chest and dampened her cheeks.
Chapter 4
“I am certain Mr. Darcy agrees with me, do you not?” Miss Bingley ceased arguing with her brother to cast Darcy a furtive glance.
Darcy dared not agree with Miss Bingley on any topic lest she presume that a shared opinion raised her in his estimation.
Before Darcy composed a proper rebuttal, she continued, “Really, Charles, I am shocked you prefer the country over town when the season has started. We could be entertaining friends and going to the theater instead of to this rustic assembly.”
Bingley fussed with his hat, mindlessly bending and twisting the brim. It was no small wonder he went through so many of them.
“It was our father’s wish, Caroline, and it is mine, to establish myself as a gentleman with an estate of my own. I have taken the counsel of those wiser than me to let an estate at which to learn. Would you have me wait until hunting season, when we will want to host our friends, and I will not have enough time to dedicate to learning? I prefer to begin now, to take my time and understand fully, while I am at my leisure.”