The Zephyr

Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

A STONE IN THE SHOE

I found a cottager boy to help in the stables, but ultimately, he was not handy on the back of the Zephyr. Charlie Boyle attended to my instructions with a look of earnest understanding.

“When I am taking a heavy curve,” I said, “you must throw your weight in the opposite direction, but,” I added, “I do not mean like a sack of potatoes. I mean you must measure your effect.”

“Yes, miss.”

“And if we are going at speed around a bend, you must then put your full weight on the outer wheel for balance.”

My tutelage was to no avail. If I needed him to sway with my movements, he felt the need to tilt himself the other way. And if I needed his counterweight on a curve, he somehow forgot. We nearly tipped over a time or two before I concluded that unless I was plodding sedately towards the village, I could drive much better alone.

I was still slightly conscious of the impropriety of doing so, however, and I had begun to instruct Kitty on the matter of balance. She understood well enough what to do, but when we reached a full gallop, her nerve would sometimes fail her as was the case the day Mr Darcy chased us through Lindbury Wood. Upon those occasions when she was disinclined to go out, I sometimes went alone but prudently restricted my solitary excursions to the ordinary lanes that crisscrossed the fields around Meryton.

I was thus engaged one pretty day in early August when I noticed a slight change in June’s cadence. Rather than gliding along, her back seemed to dip and rise with every step, causing me to slow us to a walk to better observe her.

“Are you lame, pet?” I asked.

I pulled to a stop, wrapped the reins around the rail of the curricle, and went to her head. “There, there,” I said patting her face. She nuzzled my palm in which I had a bit of carrot at the ready, and I bent down to lift her left front hock. She did not much like this and sidled away from me, so I stood up again and patted her flank soothingly.

June and July were indeed a small, docile pair, but I did not yet feel confident of spending much time underneath their bellies, mucking about with their hooves. I did not quite know what to do, but after a few moments of standing in the middle of the road in this stupid quandary, I decided the only way forwards was to unhitch the team and walk them home.

I had once or twice helped Mr Hill unhitch the ponies. Thus, I could claim to know how , but to do so alone was more than I wished to do. Rather than communicate my misgivings, I approached the horses from the front with more offerings of carrot tops and a calm determination to relieve them of their harnesses. This was heavy work, and I was making more of a show than a go of it, as they say, when a rider appeared in the distance.

This was fortuitous, so I fiddled more deliberately with the straps until he came close enough for me to decide he was not the ideal person to have come upon me in a spot of trouble. I would have much rather been laughed at by John Lucas.

“Mr Darcy,” I called to him as he approached. “I am afraid you have caught me out, sir.”

His boots hit the ground with a faint thud. “What is amiss?”

Oh, how I wished I would not blush! There was nothing for it but to pretend airy assurance. “I am afraid my pony may have lamed herself. I was just attempting to take them out of the harness to walk them home.”

“Allow me,” he said, quickly introducing himself to June, taking hold of her foreleg and tipping her fetlock up to the light. I envied his confidence, indeed, his ease with her.

“Ah,” he said, “here is the culprit.”

He took a small knife out of his pocket and flicked a pebble from under her shoe. “She should do well enough as she is if you do not force her to do more than slowly walk home.”

“I am most deeply in your debt, sir,” I said shyly, buckling up the straps I had undone on their harnesses.

He checked my work by testing the straps for security before politely holding the reins with one hand and helping me up to the seat with the other.

What then transpired was deeply mortifying, for I was forced to execute a neat turn on a narrow road. I had practised this manoeuvre and learnt to do it successfully, but unfortunately, I was by then fairly rattled. In consequence, after a shaky attempt to get us pointed back towards Longbourn, Mr Darcy was forced to back up the team in order for me to make a second attempt at the arc.

My expectation of relief at driving away from such a humiliating encounter was dashed, however, for when I was finally underway, Mr Darcy remounted his horse, and looking much like a concerned sheep dog, he felt himself compelled to walk his hunter alongside us while monitoring my every movement.

After a tense spell of three minutes, I heaved a sigh and flung a smile at my auditor. “Oh very well, Mr Darcy! I declare you are perfectly correct in your assessment. I am the veriest novice, am I not?”

He returned to me a smallish, slanted smile and spoke with a tinge of triumph. “I am relieved to hear you have arrived at the truth of things.”

“Oh I have, sir,” I said, affecting the downcast tone of remorse. “I am a mere infant holding the reins. I am a pretender, a neophyte, a rank beginner?—”

“A mulish, exasperating woman?” he asked with a lift of his brow.

“My word! How well we are acquainted! You must congratulate yourself for having nailed my character so neatly to the nearest tree.”

“Hmm. That is no great feat. Your singular ambition is to be noticed for your pertness.”

“Goodness! A damning assessment, indeed. You make me sound quite like the squire’s favourite hunting dog.”

His head swivelled so he could properly stare down at me as he barked, “I am constantly amazed at just how many words you can insert into my mouth against my will.”

“Only consider your accusation, sir. To be pert is to be lively, animated, energetic—even bouncing with enthusiasm. What creature more completely embodies those qualities than a pointer, quivering with her desire to be noticed by the huntsman for her pertness, hmm ?”

“Ah. I see. You have selected the most flattering definition of the word.”

I levelled an exceedingly pert grin at the gentleman.

“Of course I have! I am acutely aware that you, Mr Darcy, will not flatter me on any occasion or for any reason, and you must have meant by the epithet of pertness to politely accuse me of insolence.” I glanced back at the road for a second before again turning to the gentleman, this time with a smile meant to blind him. “If I do not defend myself against your narrow judgments, sir, who will?”

“Narrow!” he scoffed.

“Slender. Ungenerous. Positively tyrannical. I find your judgments to be highly entertaining for their brittleness alone.”

In his now familiar tone of offended manhood, the same tone he had so often used to counter my teasing last year when I was trapped at Netherfield Park with Jane, he attempted to correct me.

“I am generally regarded, by those in whose judgment I most rely, to be a broad-minded man.”

“Are you?” I countered in what must certainly have been the same arch and teasing manner I had so often used against him. “How unusual and indeed, how fortunate that your friends only ever tell you that you are above reproach, that you have no cause to alter your thinking on any matter, and that in all cases, your opinions are perfectly justifiable! I envy you greatly, sir.”

We clopped along at a slow walk in another silence which was anything but quiet, for we were each embroiled in our thoughts and unexpressed retorts, as evidenced by my pursed lips and his tightly clamped jaw. Though I had many more darts I could fling at him, I held my peace for my predominant wish was that he would go away.

But he did not. Instead, he eventually took a large breath and spoke with lofty stiffness. “I apologise if I have offended you.”

“Well, clearly I have offended you , sir,” I replied philosophically. “Might we call a draw and be done?”

“I only wish you would not judge me so narrowly, as you say.”

I gently pulled the reins to come to a stop and looked fully at him. My smile this time was not for show but softer and quite sincere—even remorseful. “My wish for you is much the same, Mr Darcy. Here,” I said, offering him my hand, “let us be friends, shall we?”

He took my hand, and for an instant, I thought he meant to take it to his lips! Instead, he spoke again with that peculiar, slanted smile playing subtly on his lips. “I would readily agree were it not for the strong impression I have that you derive great pleasure from hating me. Let us, for the sake of your smiles, remain agreeable adversaries instead.”

I blinked at him in confusion, blushing and thinking it was well past time we parted. “We are nearly at the front steps, sir. Might you come in for refreshments? My mother would surely be happy to thank you for assisting me.”

Predictably, he made a hasty excuse to avoid the threat of having to sit with my mother, suggested I rest June for two days, have her reshod as soon as the hoof was no longer tender, and then he galloped away from Longbourn.