by Jennifer Joy
He tucked the silk square back into his pocket and turned to walk with Miss Elizabeth, directing her and his horse toward Netherfield Park. “Where were you going?” he asked.
She looked around as if she were seeing her surroundings for the first time. “I hardly know.”
He waited for her to provide more details. When she did not, he asked, “Did you visit the Lucases’ stables?”
“Yes.” After a couple of steps, she added in a rush, “But Charlotte could not ride with me, and I was told I will not be able to continue my rides with her in the mornings.” Another few steps, and her voice trembled as she added, “I shall miss them greatly. As you know, it was the one activity I truly enjoyed.”
Darcy understood. For a lady who cherished her freedom as much as Miss Elizabeth did, taking away the one interest she loved would be a tremendous loss. No wonder she mourned.
With another smile brighter than the previous one, she added, “I am happy for them, of course. They have a new trainer — one I have heard about in the papers, though I cannot recall where — a Mr. Robert Robson. I am certain it means exciting things for the horses, and I hope it means good things for the Lucases.”
Darcy’s mind reeled. Robert Robson was not just any trainer. He was a racehorse trainer. He trained champions. His horses had won four Epsom Derbies, the last two being the most recent. He could not be bought easily, and with Lucas Lodge in debt, Darcy suspected he knew from whence the money originated. The Four Horsemen.
Darcy did not realize Miss Elizabeth had asked him a question until he felt her inquisitive gaze on him.
“You are out earlier than normal, Mr. Darcy,” she observed, watching him keenly. Too keenly to hide the truth when it would not hurt her or expose himself to be completely honest.
“I saw you leaving Netherfield alone. I was concerned for your safety.”
Her lips curled up, then she looked down. “Oh.” A becoming blush kissed her cheeks — a blush he had no right to put there.
Feeling uncomfortable, he said, “You ought not venture out alone. It is not safe.”
There. Better to scold her than to continue in this precarious terrain.
“Am I not safe with you?” She arched her eyebrow impertinently.
Dear Lord. He cleared his throat. “Yes, though you would be wise not to take any man’s word until his actions prove the integrity of his intentions.”
She laughed. “Only a truly honorable gentleman would reply thus.”
“You ought not trust so easily. How do you know I am not dangerous?” That had sounded better in his mind than it did aloud.
Again, that eyebrow. “Oh, I am convinced you are dangerous, Mr. Darcy. But you are not a danger to me.”
Darcy gritted his teeth. He felt Miss Elizabeth’s danger to him acutely. He found himself wanting to be too honest with her, and he liked her too much to endanger her in such a reckless fashion.
Changing the direction of their conversation, he asked, “Why do you like riding so much … other than the exercise and excitement?”
She sighed. “I love the wind against my face, going so fast I feel tears pulling from my eyes. When I race over the fields, I feel free from inhibitions and expectations. I am allowed just … to be.”
That was how he felt at Pemberley. It was the one place he could let his guard down and be himself.
She smiled. “Is that how you feel at Pemberley?”
Darcy startled. Of what use were private thoughts if she could read them? Or, had he spoken them aloud? He nodded, afraid to utter a word.
She said, “I heard it in the tenderness of your voice when you described your family’s estate and in the rich details you gave which most people would not even notice. It sounded as beautiful as poetry to me.”
If only she could see Pemberley. Miss Elizabeth was one to appreciate it.
She added, “You are fortunate to have a whole estate that lends itself to your happiness. The back of a horse is small in comparison.”
Darcy bit his tongue. He wanted so badly to invite her to Pemberley, but he must maintain his control.
“Why does your father not keep horses?” he asked.
“Because of my older brother.”
Darcy whipped his head around to face her. “You have a brother?”
“Had,” she said softly, adding just above a whisper, “He was the heir to Longbourn and my only living brother. I know I ought to forgive him. It is not kind to hold a grudge against the dead, but my father sold all of our riding horses after his accident.”
Darcy dared not ask what happened.
Elizabeth scoffed, the bitterness in her tone revealing a depth of feeling previously hidden to him. “You are far too mannerly to inquire, but I will tell you anyway, Mr. Darcy. You see, my brother — Thomas was his name — was indulged from infancy. Secure in his inheritance and with little regard for the future when he could find pleasure in the present, he was allowed to roam all over the country with his friends. It was on one such excursion he succumbed to pressure from his peers and accepted a foolish challenge.”
Darcy recollected the senseless pranks and tricks in which his schoolmates had participated to prove their bravery. Some of them had been harmless; others had been deadly.
“The family where he stayed had recently acquired a difficult stallion. Despite the groom’s warnings to stay away, Thomas’ friends thought they would prove who was the bravest by entering the stall of the stallion while the family slept. Thomas went first.” She looked down, her hands clenched together. “He never came back out. The other boys were too scared to help him. By the time the groom woke and got to them, Thomas was … gone.”
“I am sorry.” He could think of nothing better to say.
“Me too. Thomas dying away from home was awful enough. It left my father’s entailed estate without an heir to inherit and secure the futures of my mother and sisters, but it also moved my father to prohibit travel and horses.”
Travel and horses. Miss Elizabeth’s two loves.
Darcy pressed his eyes closed briefly. How quickly he had judged Mr. and Mrs. Bennet when they had lost their only son and means of providing for their daughters after they were gone. He would always find Mrs. Bennet’s manners brazen, but with knowledge came understanding … and acceptance. Even Mr. Bennet’s seeming apathy toward his family was explained. Perhaps he distanced himself so that he would not have to face the pain of loss again. It did not justify his behavior, but at least it offered a strong motive for it.
Miss Elizabeth dabbed angrily at her cheek with her sleeve and forced a smile. “I have been fortunate to visit my aunt and uncle as far as London. Under the circumstances, I am grateful to be allowed to have gone that far. And until today, I was allowed to ride with Miss Lucas.”
“How did you convince your father to allow that?”
“Quietly and without incident. My father has never said so aloud, but I suspect he has allowed it because he knows I am more cautious than Thomas ever was. That was why I ran off the morning we first met. I was afraid my father would take my spill too hard and forbid me from riding.” She folded her arms over her chest. “It turns out, I need not have worried. I no longer have access to horses, and I am not so desperate as to attempt to ride our carriage horses.”
Melancholy dulled her cheer, but only momentarily. She chewed her bottom lip and her eyebrows bunched together as though she was planning something.
Before her jaw could set in determination on an emotionally made solution which would surely bring on Mr. Bennet’s displeasure, Darcy said, “The Lucases are not the only family with a stable full of horses requiring exercise. I am certain Bingley would wish for you, as his guest, to make use of his stables.”
The brightness in Miss Elizabeth’s face stirred Darcy’s heart.
“Really? You do not think it in imposition? Could we go there now?”
There was too much hope in her question for him to deny her. What harm could possibly come from a br
ief jaunt over Netherfield’s acreage?
Chapter 13
Elizabeth followed Mr. Darcy inside Mr. Bingley’s stables, peeking inside each gated stall until she saw the familiar brown coat and black mane.
Tempest pushed her muzzle between the bars.
Reaching through them, Elizabeth touched Tempest’s velvet nose. Contentment soothed her like sunshine soaking through her riding habit. “This one, please.”
Mr. Bingley’s groom cleared his throat and shuffled his feet. “Are you certain you want to ride this mare, Miss? She is a bit of a handful.”
A stable boy stood behind him, holding a sidesaddle borrowed from one of Mr. Bingley’s sisters. Elizabeth had seen the boy before, she was sure. Unlike the groom, the boy was not schooled in hiding his expression. He stared wide-eyed and open-mouthed between Elizabeth and the maligned mare.
“I am certain, thank you,” Elizabeth replied.
The groom shook his head, but he led Tempest out of the stall to saddle her. “Easy, easy,” he said calmly.
Elizabeth ran her hands over the mare’s neck and down her flank, feeling her bridled energy and knowing Tempest was in as much need of a good run as she was. She needed to ensure the saddle was snug. “The girth will need tightened after she walks a few steps. Tempest has a bad habit of puffing out her stomach when she is being saddled.”
The groom chuckled. “You are familiar with the troublesome minx, then? I am relieved, Miss.”
Elizabeth smiled. “We are old friends.”
The stable boy grinned. “The ladies of the house refuse to ride this mare after she unseated Miss Bingley then took a bite out of her bonnet … and all in front of Mr. Darcy.”
With a groan and a sharp look which implied that the lad would get a good scolding regarding what should and should not be revealed about the master of the house’s family, the groom led Tempest to the covered yard.
Elizabeth bit her lips together. She could not very well laugh at Miss Bingley when it was that very lady’s saddle she would be using. Thank goodness Emily had thought to include Elizabeth’s riding habit in the trunk Mama had her pack. Elizabeth would use Miss Bingley’s saddle and horse, but she drew the line at borrowing from her wardrobe.
After a few laps around the yard, the groom tightened the saddle’s girth again, gaining two more notches in the strap.
“Blimey, just as the lady said! I bet she knows more about horses than Miss Bingley pretends to,” the stable boy exclaimed to the groom.
The groom snapped, “I am tempted to send you back from whence you came until you learn to keep your mouth shut. No wonder they wanted rid of you at Lucas Lodge.”
Of course! That was where she had seen the boy. If she recalled correctly, he was Joe’s little brother.
Satisfied to have her memory restored, Elizabeth lifted a foot for the groom to help her onto the saddle just as Mr. Darcy and his groom, a man with light hair and a remarkably crooked nose, emerged from the stables.
Mr. Darcy’s horse, a handsome gray thoroughbred, pranced impatiently, his brushed coat glistening in the morning sun. Such a striking creature would make most gentlemen appear shabby beside him, but not Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth had thought him handsome at first sight, but dressed as he was with a dark green coat, she could appreciate the width of his shoulders as she had the night she had seen him in his shirtsleeves. The fabric strained across his back when he pulled his gloves on. His buckskin breeches stretched over his thighs as he mounted the gelding with the agility of a cat leaping on top of a table. His was the physique of an athlete — strong and lithe.
The warmth crawling up her neck warned Elizabeth to look elsewhere before the blush reached her cheeks.
So Mr. Darcy was handsome. Many gentlemen were.
So he exuded an air of confidence and danger. That was merely the work of her unfulfilled longings and overactive imagination.
So he had proved himself reliable and principled. This thought gave Elizabeth pause. It was not easy to rebut admirable qualities, nor did she believe it just to attempt to do so. She would simply have to think kindly toward Mr. Darcy’s character and superior figure and hope that he was in reality the man she was beginning to believe him to be.
He smiled widely at her. “I trust you know the best paths.”
She arched her brow. Her earlier disappointment felt distant, and with Mr. Darcy as her willing accomplice, all Elizabeth wanted to do was chase her elusive dreams over the fields. One day, she would catch them. Maybe not today, but fulfillment seemed more possible right then than it ever had before.
Elizabeth nudged Tempest into a walk. “If it is the scenery you wish to see, I fear I will disappoint you. It is my intention to gallop Tempest so fast, the fields blur.”
“Are you up to the task?” Concern contained his smile to his lips.
Elizabeth’s pride puffed out like the feathers of a ruffled hen. Was she up to the task? She could very well ask the same of him!
But her offense was momentary when reason overtook her impulse. Mr. Darcy did not know whether she was a novice or an accomplished equestrian. His only observation regarding her skill had been the spill she had taken right in front of him. Of course, he would question her ability.
Well, she thought gleefully, she would simply have to correct his false impression. She would start out slowly, but Elizabeth resolved not to return to the stables until both she and Tempest were breathless and Mr. Darcy and his steed were several lengths behind them.
Tapping the mare’s side, Elizabeth bobbed up and down to Tempest’s trot. “I ought to ask you the same, Mr. Darcy. Do try to keep up.”
He appeared at her side immediately, pushing his hat down firmly. The groom had already fallen behind.
It was a race, then. Elizabeth’s body tingled in anticipation.
She nudged Tempest into a canter, and the longer legs of Mr. Darcy’s thoroughbred easily matched them.
Tempest did not like that. She wanted to be out front. “All in good time, my friend,” Elizabeth whispered. Truth be told, she was struggling to allow sufficient time for the horses’ muscles to warm up. She wanted to run, but she did not want to provoke an injury.
When the flower-lined path opened up to fallow fields, Elizabeth leaned forward on her hip, tightened her grip on the reins, and clucked her tongue. It was time!
Tempest leaped forward, and Elizabeth lost sight of Mr. Darcy. Excitement surged through her veins. Crisp air doused her face and pushed against the pins holding her bonnet.
They flew over the field. The soft green grass blurred into a solid mass at Tempest’s feet, the rapid staccato of her hooves beating in rhythm with Elizabeth’s heart.
Out of the corner of her eye, Elizabeth saw a blob of gray and green. Mr. Darcy. She had not needed to slow down for him to catch up with her. Her limbs tingled; her concentration on the route to the path she sought intensified. Let us see if Mr. Darcy can keep up now!
One in thought with her mistress, Tempest stretched her legs, lengthened her neck, and kept their lead.
Elizabeth heard an inciting shout to the side, and Mr. Darcy’s gray momentarily took the lead until Tempest gained on them once more. Elizabeth was not certain who was more competitive — herself and Tempest or Mr. Darcy and his thoroughbred.
Laughter echoed over clomping hooves and gasping breaths, and Elizabeth delighted when she realized it was her own. It felt divine to laugh.
Faster, faster she went, neck and neck with Mr. Darcy. He was a worthy opponent. He did not show her any advantage, and she reveled in the challenge. It would not last for long. She was determined to best him.
They were near the path now, and its rise and bend offered the perfect moment to make her move. If she could get in front of Mr. Darcy, there was no hope of him passing her until the path widened at the bottom. “Come on Tempest!” she shouted.
The spirited mare surged forward. She knew the path well, but evidently, so did Mr. Darcy. He made a move for the lead before the pat
h narrowed.
Bunching her mouth, Elizabeth looked for another path with which he was not so familiar — one not so clearly tamped into the ground, one which provided an obstacle other than speed.
Rallying her counterattack, Elizabeth turned toward a copse of trees farther up the rise. She would see how well Mr. Darcy did with the fallen tree trunk crossing the grown-over path. His horse ran well, but could he jump?
Darting across the field toward the grove, Elizabeth directed Tempest toward the rotten timber. She cleared the obstruction with ease, sailing over it and lifting Elizabeth in her saddle.
At her side mid-air was Mr. Darcy and his gray. She could not shake him.
Elizabeth braced herself for the landing, preparing to call a truce before they exhausted their mounts.
Crack!
She winced, her ears ringing and her shoulders unable to cover them no matter how high she raised them and tucked her head.
Tempest’s front hooves hit the ground, sending painful stabbing needles through Elizabeth’s rigid limbs. She grabbed Tempest’s mane, her grip around the reins so tight it hurt to loosen her fingers enough to gain hold on the coarse hair. She had kept her seat. Tempest had not panicked.
Elizabeth looked about. Burned gunpowder laced the air. The rifle crack echoed in her ears still.
She yelped when Mr. Darcy suddenly appeared at her other side, standing on the ground. He wrapped his hands around her waist and pulled her off her horse.
“Down! Get down!” he hissed, pushing her to huddle by the fallen tree on the ground and grabbing Tempest’s reins. He held the uneasy horses as far away from them as his arm allowed while crouching in front of Elizabeth where the tree did not cover them.
Elizabeth’s stomach lurched, her heart thrumming in her aching ears. Until that moment, until Mr. Darcy pulled her down and protected her with his own body, she had dismissed the shot as that of a hunter.
But it was not hunting season. And nobody in his right mind would shoot so near two riders in a field. This was horribly wrong.