Chapter 8
Once Atlas was settled, Mr. Darcy stuffed their gloves into his coat pocket.
He clasped her hand in his as they dashed to the house.
Elizabeth’s gown clung to her legs, heavy with rain and mud, and she was acutely aware of Mr. Darcy beside her in equal disarray, the touch of her palm against his sending shock waves up her arm.
They did not speak—what was there to say after that moment in the stable?
—but the peace and joy she felt accompanied them.
Longbourn’s butler threw open the door, allowing them access and taking their dripping outerwear. Elizabeth glanced up at Mr. Darcy. His smile grew as he pulled their dry gloves from his coat pockets and set them on a shelf above where their coats and hats hung.
The drawing room was chaotic. Her mother held court from her favorite chair, her voice carrying above all others as she regaled Colonel Fitzwilliam with an account of Jane’s illness and Mr. Bingley’s attentiveness.
Her father sat in the corner, ignoring them all.
Mary was at the pianoforte, her fingers moving over the keys with more determination than skill.
Kitty and Lydia flanked Miss Darcy on the sofa, talking over each other in their enthusiasm to learn everything about London.
“And do you attend many balls, Miss Darcy? Oh, you must! With your brother’s fortune and connections— Mama, does not Miss Darcy have the most elegant pelisse?
I should die for such a pelisse! And I am certain you know all the handsomest officers.
Why, now that the militia are here, Meryton is teeming with attractive men in their scarlet tunics. ”
Poor Miss Darcy looked rather like a rabbit cornered by hounds, her expression hovering between polite interest and alarm.
Jane sat in the corner chair, her posture perfect despite obvious lethargy, doing her best to moderate the mayhem. She noticed Elizabeth in the doorway, and her shoulders eased.
“Lizzy, there you are. And Mr. Darcy.” Jane rose, swaying slightly. “Forgive me, but I find I must retire. The journey has fatigued me more than I anticipated.”
Elizabeth crossed to her side. “Come, I shall help you upstairs.”
“No, thank you, Lizzy. Mama,” Jane said, her voice carrying just enough to cut through their mother’s monologue, “Would you be so kind as to assist me? I should like your company.”
Their mother’s expression shifted from annoyance at the interruption to pleasure at being needed. “Of course, my dear! Though I cannot think why you wish to leave such agreeable company. Colonel Fitzwilliam was just telling me about—well, never mind.”
Jane was not yet finished. “Come, Kitty, Lydia, Mary—you will attend me as well.”
“But Mama…” Lydia began.
“Now,” Jane said, in a tone that brooked no argument, surprising them into action.
The exodus was swift and complete. Within moments, the drawing room held only Elizabeth, Mr. Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam, Miss Darcy, and Mr. Bennet, who had been observing the proceedings from behind his newspaper with evident amusement.
He lowered the paper now, studying Elizabeth’s muddy hem and Mr. Darcy’s scuffed boots as if they were clues to a mystery. “Well. This is an interesting morning. Lizzy, what is this about? Jane mentioned something about a horse?”
Elizabeth glanced at Mr. Darcy, uncertain how much to reveal. “Mr. Darcy has been generous enough to allow me the use of his horse, Atlas, for riding lessons. Atlas is currently in our stables, as he accompanied us from Netherfield.”
“I see. And you are home because…?”
“We had imposed on Miss Bingley long enough,” Elizabeth said carefully. “Given that Longbourn is so close, there seemed little reason to remain.”
Her father’s eyebrows rose. He was no fool, and Elizabeth knew he heard what she had not said. However, he merely folded his newspaper and set it aside.
“Mr. Darcy,” he said, “Might I have a word with you? My study, if you would be so kind.”
Darcy inclined his head. “Of course.”
As the two men departed, Colonel Fitzwilliam moved to stand beside Miss Darcy.
Elizabeth teased, “Well done, Miss Darcy. You survived the Bennet sisters with admirable composure.”
“They were very, ah, enthusiastic,” Miss Darcy said weakly.
Elizabeth suppressed a smile. “I apologize for my family’s exuberance. We are not often visited by such distinguished company.”
“Please do not apologize,” Miss Darcy said earnestly. “They were kind, simply rather overwhelming in their kindness.”
In Mr. Bennet’s study, Darcy stood before the desk while Miss Elizabeth’s father sank into his chair with the air of a man preparing to be entertained. “So. A horse.”
“Yes, sir. Atlas is a twenty-five-year-old Cleveland Bay gelding. He has been with my family since I was two years old. My sister and I learnt to ride on him after outgrowing our ponies. He is now ready for retirement at Pemberley.” Darcy kept his tone measured, factual.
“I see. And you brought this horse from London to teach my daughter to ride.”
“I did.”
“That is generous of you, Mr. Darcy.”
“It is practical, sir. As you are likely aware, the distance between here and Derbyshire is considerable. Having Atlas rest in Hertfordshire is a boon. He requires easy exercise, and Miss Elizabeth…” He continued.
“Your daughter explained what happened to your young niece. I can only commend you for your caution while your daughters were young. However, your adult second daughter yearns to ride. If I can remedy that situation, even temporarily, I consider it a privilege rather than a burden.”
Mr. Bennet considered him for a long moment. “Lizzy stopped asking for a riding horse years ago. I thought she had forgotten about it or perhaps decided it did not matter. Now I find she has not forgotten at all. She simply learnt not to hope for what she could not have.”
“I believe so, sir.”
“And now there is a horse in my stables. A horse my daughter already adores, if I am understanding the situation.” Mr. Bennet’s expression was resigned rather than angry.
“When you take Atlas away to Pemberley, Mr. Darcy, I shall have no peace. Lizzy will not ask—she never does—but I shall know. And my wife will certainly ask. Loudly and repeatedly.”
“I understand, sir.”
“Do you? Because it seems to me, Mr. Darcy, that you have created a situation from which there is no comfortable retreat. For any of us.” Mr. Bennet leant back into his chair.
“However, I suppose the damage is done. You and your family are welcome at Longbourn whenever you wish to call. I am always at my leisure.”
It was not quite a blessing, but neither was it a prohibition. Darcy inclined his head. “Thank you, sir. That is most generous.”
“Is it? I wonder.” Mr. Bennet picked up his newspaper again, signaling the conversation’s end. “I suspect we shall all discover the answer to that question in due time.”
The return journey to Netherfield began with plans and enthusiasm despite the continued rain. Georgiana sat beside Darcy, already chattering about what Elizabeth should learn first.
“She has excellent instincts,” Georgiana said. “She will be a natural rider, of this I am certain.”
“We shall start with the basics,” Darcy said. “Mounting, dismounting, proper seat. We will guard against being too ambitious until she has confidence.”
“Which can be learnt inside the stable while it is raining,” Richard said.
“And I can ride beside her once she is ready,” Georgiana added. “Our horses will look lovely together—Atlas’s bay and Starlight’s gray.”
Richard, whose hired mount was tied to the back of the carriage, said, “Perhaps we should plan a proper ride once Miss Elizabeth has mastered the basics. Through the countryside, at a nice, gentle pace.”
“Let us not get ahead of ourselves,” Darcy said, though he smiled at their enthusiasm. The image of Elizabeth riding beside them through Hertfordshire’s lanes appealed to him greatly.
They entered Meryton’s high street, the carriage slowing to navigate the foot traffic despite the rain.
Shops lined both sides of the road, their windows glowing with lamplight against the gloom.
A few hardy souls hurried along the walkways; umbrellas tilted against the weather.
And there, standing beneath the eaves of the inn with a group of red-coated officers, was a man who looked entirely too familiar.
Darcy’s entire body became rigid.
He knew that posture, that easy stance, the calculated nonchalance with which the man leant against the wall. Even at this distance, even through rain-streaked glass, Darcy recognized Wickham instantly.
Wickham looked up as the carriage passed. His eyes widened, then narrowed. He straightened from the wall, observing the Darcy crest on the carriage door.
A challenge sparked in the look they exchanged.
Wickham’s expression shifted through surprise to calculation to something that might have been satisfaction. Then he smiled—that charming smile that Darcy had learnt long ago to distrust—and sketched a mocking half-bow.
“Brother?” Georgiana’s voice quavered. She followed his gaze. “Is that—it cannot be.”
“Do not look at him.” Darcy’s voice came out harsher than he intended. He forced himself to gentle his tone. “Georgiana, look at me. Not at him. At me.”
Her face paled; her hands trembled in her lap. “What is he doing here?”
“I do not know.” Darcy pulled her close, letting her hide her face against his shoulder. Over her head, he caught Richard’s eye.
His cousin had seen Wickham, too. Richard’s expression hardened—the look of a soldier assessing a threat.
“Let us get Georgiana to Netherfield,” Richard said. “I will return to investigate.”
“Richard…”
“Your priority is your sister. Mine is finding out what that rake is doing in Meryton and whether he poses an immediate threat.” Richard’s jaw was tight. “I will return to Netherfield as soon as I know something.”
The carriage rolled on, leaving Meryton behind. Darcy held Georgiana as she quivered like a leaf, her face still pressed against his coat. He managed to share reassurances that rang hollow in his own ears.
Wickham. Here. In Meryton.
It could not be a coincidence. Yet, Wickham did nothing without calculation, without purpose. He was here for a reason, and that reason could only be money—or revenge.
Darcy’s mind raced through possibilities, each more troubling than the last. How had Wickham heard of Darcy’s presence in Hertfordshire? Did he know about Georgiana’s visit? Was he already spreading lies, poisoning the neighborhood against the Darcy name?
Or worse—had someone mentioned Elizabeth? Learnt of Darcy’s interest in her?
The thought made his blood run cold. Wickham was vindictive, charming, and utterly without scruple. If he discovered Darcy cared for Elizabeth Bennet, he would use that information to cause maximum damage.
“Brother,” Georgiana turned her head away from him. “I wish…I wish I had made better choices. I have so many regrets because of him.”
“Hush. You have no need to regret, Georgiana.” Darcy pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “We shall sort this out. Richard will discover what Wickham wants, and we shall deal with it. Together.”
“He saw us. He knows we are here.”
“Yes. He knows.” Darcy stared out of the window at the rain-soaked countryside, his jaw taut. “Which means we must be careful.”
The carriage rolled on toward Netherfield, away from Meryton and the threat that lurked there. But Darcy knew—with cold, absolute certainty—that this was not the end.
Wickham could not merely threaten Georgiana’s future. He could threaten the future that Darcy had only just begun to imagine was possible with Elizabeth.