Chapter 7
Elizabeth woke to rain lashing the windows.
Her first emotion was keen disappointment.
No riding lesson today. Her second emotion was confusion.
She had been dreaming. Not of Atlas or racing across fields, but of Mr. Darcy.
His patience with her. The way his reserve melted when he spoke of Miss Darcy or of his horses.
The unexpected gentleness of the deep timbre of his voice when he teased.
The attractive way his riding coat settled on his broad shoulders.
Elizabeth pushed the dreams aside. Jane’s health had improved until she was well enough that Miss Darcy had visited last evening. The girl charmed them both with her enthusiasm and her complete lack of Darcy pride.
Yet it was her brother, not the sweet-natured Georgiana, who lingered in Elizabeth’s thoughts.
“Lizzy?” Jane’s voice was soft from the adjoining room. “Are you awake?”
“Yes.” Elizabeth sat up and arranged her features into something approaching cheerfulness. The morning light penetrating the curtains was muted. “The rain woke me.”
“It will pass,” Jane said. “I suspect that by this afternoon…”
“Perhaps.” Elizabeth could not keep the disappointment from her voice. She moved to the window as water streamed down the glass. The stable yard below was a sea of mud. Even if the rain stopped, the ground would be too treacherous for a beginner’s first lesson.
“Oh, Lizzy.” Jane sat up in her bed, wrapping a shawl around her shoulders. “I wanted nothing to interfere with your lessons.”
“It is only weather.” Elizabeth pressed her palm against the cold glass. “Atlas will still be here when it clears. Mr. Darcy is not leaving immediately.”
“But you wanted today.”
“I did.” Elizabeth’s throat constricted. “I wanted today very much.”
A knock at the door interrupted them. At Jane’s invitation, Miss Darcy entered, already dressed for the day in a simple morning gown of soft green.
Miss Darcy moved to Jane’s side, taking her hand. “I hope you rested well.”
“Thank you, Miss Darcy. And thank you for lending Lizzy your beautiful riding habit. It was very generous.”
“Not at all. I want…” She glanced at Elizabeth at the window. “I want Miss Elizabeth to have many occasions to wear it.” Miss Darcy moved to Elizabeth’s side. “You have seen the weather.”
“Rather difficult to miss,” Elizabeth said, attempting levity and failing.
“I know you are disappointed. I would be as well. However, my brother asked me to extend an invitation. If you would, please, wear something that you will not mind getting a little soiled and meet us in the entrance hall after you break your fast. We have an excursion planned.”
Elizabeth turned to stare at her. “In this weather?”
“In this weather.” Miss Darcy’s smile was conspiratorial. “Please? It will be worth it, I promise.”
Fifteen minutes later, Elizabeth descended the stairs in a simple gown, the one she wore for long walks in questionable weather—the one she wore when she walked to Netherfield.
Mr. Darcy was in the breakfast room with Colonel Fitzwilliam, both dressed for riding despite the rain. Miss Darcy joined them a moment later, and Mr. Bingley entered, his expression curious.
“What is all this?” he asked cheerfully. “An expedition?”
“Of sorts,” Mr. Darcy said. He glanced at Elizabeth, and she saw anticipation, perhaps, or amusement. “Miss Elizabeth is going to learn about horses, even if she cannot ride today.”
“In the rain?” Miss Bingley’s voice preceded her entrance as she swept into the room, her expression a mixture of disdain and curiosity. “How very…rustic.”
“Miss Elizabeth will be mucking stables,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said cheerfully. “Getting her hands properly dirty. Character-building, you know.”
Elizabeth saw the teasing glint in his eye and knew he was baiting Miss Bingley deliberately. Sure enough, the woman’s lips curved in a sharp smile.
“How diverting,” Miss Bingley said silkily. “A task well-suited to a Bennet.”
The silence that followed was absolute.
Mr. Darcy’s expression hardened into something cold and forbidding. Colonel Fitzwilliam’s easy smile vanished. Even Mr. Bingley looked shocked, his mouth opening as though to protest.
The cut pierced Elizabeth like a physical blow, but she refused to show it. She lifted her chin, met Miss Bingley’s gaze with cool dignity, then turned to Mr. Darcy.
“Sir, might your carriage be made available? There has been a change of plans. Jane and I must return to Longbourn immediately.”
“Miss Elizabeth…” Mr. Bingley began. “Your sister is ill. She should not be moved.”
“Jane will travel regardless. We have imposed on Netherfield’s hospitality long enough.” She kept her voice steady, refusing to let it shake. “If you will excuse me, I must help Jane prepare.”
She turned toward the stairs, her vision blurring slightly but her spine straight.
“Miss Elizabeth, wait…”
Elizabeth turned as Mr. Bingley started forward.
“You cannot mean to leave because of my sister’s thoughtless…”
“The carriage will be ready within the hour,” Mr. Darcy said. His eyes never left Elizabeth’s face. “I shall inform my driver.”
Elizabeth nodded once and ascended the staircase, the weight of Mr. Darcy’s scrutiny on her shoulders.
Once Elizabeth repeated Miss Bingley’s insult, Jane understood immediately. She asked no questions, simply began gathering her things with Elizabeth’s help. Within half an hour, they were ready to depart.
A small crowd had assembled in the entrance hall when they descended the grand staircase, Miss Bingley notably absent. Mr. Bingley hovered anxiously, clearly distressed. Mr. and Mrs. Hurst stood to the side, looking ill at ease.
“Miss Bennet, please,” Mr. Bingley said as Jane reached the bottom step. “There is no need to leave. My sister spoke out of turn. She will apologize—”
“There is every need,” Elizabeth said. “We are most grateful for your hospitality, Mr. Bingley.”
Miss Darcy appeared at Elizabeth’s elbow, squeezing her hand briefly in support.
“The carriage is ready,” Mr. Darcy said. “Colonel Fitzwilliam and I will ride alongside.”
“In this weather?” Elizabeth protested. “That is unnecessary.”
“It is absolutely necessary,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said. “No argument, Miss Elizabeth.”
They were bundled into the carriage with surprising efficiency. Miss Darcy insisted on accompanying them, climbing inside despite Elizabeth’s protests.
“I shall not let you two travel alone,” she said. “Not after that.”
Elizabeth glimpsed Mr. Darcy’s face as he closed the carriage door—grim, determined, almost angry. Then the carriage lurched into motion.
Elizabeth sat against the squabs, her hands gripping the edge of the seat. She would not cry. She would not give Miss Bingley that satisfaction.
“Oh, Lizzy,” Jane said.
“I am well enough.” Elizabeth kept her attention fixed on the window. “It was the correct decision.”
And it was. Jane’s protection was far more precious than her own dream. If Miss Bingley could be so cruel in front of witnesses, what would she do to Jane in private? Jane, who saw only good in people. Jane, who would endure any cut with grace and never defend herself.
The three-mile journey to Longbourn felt interminable. As the rain fell, Elizabeth tried not to think about Atlas waiting for her in Netherfield’s stable. Tried not to mourn what she had given up, even if her disappointment hurt more than breathing.
The carriage halted in front of Longbourn. Elizabeth looked out of the window and froze.
Mr. Darcy sat astride Atlas in the pouring rain. Not Gracie. Not some other horse from Netherfield’s stables. Atlas, standing patiently in the downpour, while his master’s coat looked soaked through.
Jacob, Longbourn’s groom, hurried forward. “Miss Elizabeth! Miss Jane!” He took in the Darcy crest on the carriage, the two gentlemen riders, and the young lady inside with the Bennet sisters. “I’ll see to the horses, sir.”
“Thank you,” Mr. Darcy said.
Jacob called instructions to the carriage driver to pull under the stable overhang once the passengers disembarked, then moved to take Atlas’s reins when Mr. Darcy dismounted. The horse went willingly, and Elizabeth was saddened to see him led away.
The front door flew open, and Mrs. Bennet rushed out, heedless of the rain.
“Jane! Oh, my dear Jane! Why are you here? I thought you would stay at Netherfield for weeks. Mr. Bingley was so attentive, and now—Elizabeth! What have you done? Did you offend someone? Did you ruin Jane’s chances? Where is Mr. Bingley?”
“Mama, please…” Jane tried to intervene, but their mother was not to be stopped.
Then she became aware of Colonel Fitzwilliam’s coat and Mr. Darcy standing beside the carriage. Her expression transformed instantly.
“Oh! Oh my! Please come in. You are soaked through. Come, come!”
Mr. Darcy stepped alongside her. “Mrs. Bennet,” he said with careful politeness. “Thank you for your hospitality. However, I wonder if Miss Elizabeth might prefer to see to the horses first? They have traveled in unpleasant conditions.”
“The horses? Lizzy?” Her mother shook her head.
Elizabeth’s eyes flew to his face. She saw the question there—the offer.
“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, I would like that very much.”
“Splendid!” Colonel Fitzwilliam said cheerfully.
“Mrs. Bennet, if you would be so kind, Miss Darcy and I are quite in need of warming tea. Miss Bennet as well. She should be warm and dry as soon as possible.” He offered his arm to Mrs. Bennet, who preened at the attention, then guided Jane and Miss Darcy toward the house with practiced ease.
Within moments, Elizabeth stood alone with Mr. Darcy in the rain.
“The stables.” He raised a playful brow.
Rain pelted them as they ran toward the building, and Elizabeth laughed—truly laughed—with Mr. Darcy running beside her.
They arrived breathless, her pelisse soaked through, mud clinging to her half boots, but neither seemed to care.
She marveled at his persistence in protecting her from disappointment.
Was this his attempt to apologize for the insult?
If so, he acted perfectly to ease her heart.
When they entered the stable, Jacob was already rubbing down Atlas.
“May I finish that?” Elizabeth said, moving forward.
Jacob looked up, surprised. “Miss Elizabeth, you don’t need to—”
“Please,” she said.
Jacob glanced at Mr. Darcy, who nodded. The groom handed Elizabeth the cloth.
As Elizabeth approached the horse, he turned his head toward her, water still dripping from his mane, and huffed softly in greeting.
“Good morning,” she said in a hushed voice.
She began to work, rubbing the cloth over his neck, his shoulders, his back.
The motion was soothing, meditative. Atlas stood quietly, and Elizabeth exhaled, her tension easing.
Mr. Darcy moved to the horse’s other side, rubbing him down with the towel Jacob handed him.
“Miss Elizabeth, pray do not believe that I share Miss Bingley’s opinions. Though she is proud of her conduct, her cruelty belies her claim of gentility.”
Elizabeth considered each word. “I thank you, sir.”
He dipped his head. “I would be remiss if I did not beg your forgiveness for causing you pain the night of the assembly. I never should have slighted you, for it has been many weeks since I concluded that you are one of the finest ladies of my acquaintance.”
Heat rushed from her chest to her hair. “I accept your apology. Pray, do not mention the assembly again.” She moved to the horse’s chest, rubbing in firm circles, and Atlas lowered his head and nudged her shoulder.
A hug.
Elizabeth’s heart melted. She stood still, the weight of his head against her neck. She pulled off her gloves and handed them to Mr. Darcy. She reached up to stroke Atlas’s cheek, and she felt a tear slide down her own—not from sadness, but from something more profound.
“He knows,” Mr. Darcy said from behind her. “Already, he knows you care for him.”
Elizabeth could not speak. Could not turn around.
She simply stood there, Atlas’s heavy head warm against her shoulder, his breath steady on her neck, appreciating everything she had tried so hard to contain.
And in that moment, surrounded by the smell of wet horse and fresh hay, with rain drumming on the stable roof and Mr. Darcy’s presence across from her, the horse-loving child in Elizabeth dreamt again.
She had fallen in love with a horse at five years old.
But at twenty, with Atlas’s presence against her and Mr. Darcy standing near, Elizabeth felt something shift inside her.
The depth of it surprised her—how much she wanted not just the horse, but the man who had brought him.
The realization made her pause from an overwhelming awareness that her heart wanted him, whether she was ready or not.