Chapter 29
WHERE ALL IS WELL IN HYDE PARK, BUT NOT SO NICE ON PARK STREET.
That afternoon, Elizabeth and Mrs Lawrence were safely returned to Bingley’s keeping.
Due to an incessant bout of rain, the three ladies residing in Park Street were forced to pass the next few days quietly at home; but by the end of the week the weather saw such a marked improvement that Darcy suggested escorting Elizabeth on a tour of Hyde Park the following day.
Since the roads through town were muddy and the footpaths within the park itself were likely to be worse, he proposed riding rather than walking, a prospect that pleased Elizabeth immensely.
She was rarely given the opportunity to ride in Hertfordshire; that she would be able to do so in London with Darcy felt like an indulgence.
She did not have a riding habit, but Darcy assured her it would be no trouble to secure one for her.
His sister kept several at Darcy House, including two she had outgrown during the last Season.
Though Miss Darcy was formed on a larger scale than Elizabeth, a few minor alterations were easily and efficiently made for her slighter build and by the end of the day Elizabeth was outfitted with a stylish winter habit and a pair of riding boots.
Since she and Darcy were both early risers, they arranged to meet shortly after sunrise the following morning, when the ever-crowded streets would be empty and London most at peace.
With the rest of the household still abed, Elizabeth stood before a looking glass in the back parlour, struggling to pin her hat to her head.
The veil attached to the hat was long and cumbersome, and the hat itself felt heavy and uncomfortable.
Try as she might, she could not affix it to her person in any way that satisfied her.
A quick glance out the window revealed that Darcy had arrived and was walking towards the house from the stable yard.
Elizabeth cast an exasperated look at her reflection and bit her lip.
Oh, hang this ridiculous thing! I shall not wear it.
She tossed the bothersome hat onto a nearby table, threw open the door, and greeted Darcy with an arch look that dared him to disapprove.
He smirked at her expression, ignored her hatless head, and placed a chaste kiss upon her gloved hand.
They did not tarry, but proceeded directly into the yard, where a groom waited with the horses.
Darcy had personally selected a horse from his own stable for her to ride that morning—a grey mare with an elegant form and noble bearing. She was easily sixteen hands high.
“Oh, Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth exclaimed, smiling with genuine pleasure as she lavished affection upon her horse. “She is beautiful. What is her name?”
“This is Houri. She has a calm temperament but is not so docile that you will become bored with her. With the proper encouragement, she can be quite spirited, but I have never known her to be obstinate. I believe you will be pleased with her. Her gait is one of the smoothest of any horse I have ever owned.”
“I believe I shall like her very much. I must thank you for your consideration in choosing her for me. If you had given me an impertinent horse our temperaments would clash to very ill effect!”
Darcy snorted. “It is most fortunate then, that all my impertinent horses are currently stabled at Pemberley. I am your servant, Miss Bennet. Come, allow me to assist you in mounting your most civil and affable horse.”
Offering his hand to Elizabeth, he attended her while she climbed onto the block and up into the saddle.
When she was comfortably settled, Darcy mounted his own horse, a regal black Arabian named Pharaoh.
Side by side, they headed towards Upper Brook Street and continued onto Park Lane, chatting amicably as they followed the wide avenue to the entrance at the Grosvenor Street gate.
They met with no one, save for a handful of servants on errands for their masters.
Mayfair’s more stylish residents were likely still asleep.
The fashionable hour in which to see and be seen in Hyde Park was in the evening, not in the early light of morning.
As Darcy waxed eloquent about Kensington Gardens, which lay just beyond the Serpentine, Elizabeth admired the impressive figure he cut on Pharaoh.
She imagined him dressed in his finery, riding along Rotten Row with London’s elite, and wrinkled her nose.
She had no doubt he preferred to enjoy Hyde Park without making a spectacle of himself.
The staid master of Pemberley was no dandy.
There was a chill in the air that morning, but there was no one about to intrude upon his solitude or force him into superficial conversation.
There were no gentlemen to make demands of him, or ladies to impose upon him.
He was at leisure to be himself, and Elizabeth basked in her excellent fortune of being one of the privileged few for whom he cared, and whose society he truly welcomed.
They entered the park and Darcy fixed her with a look that clearly communicated his delight at having her with him. “Where did you learn to ride? You have a magnificent seat.”
“Thank you,” she replied, warmed by his look of undisguised admiration. “Riding side-saddle is hardly comfortable, though. I am far more proficient when I ride astride.”
Darcy’s eyes darkened with a look Elizabeth now recognised as barely restrained desire. “I should like to see that, Elizabeth, once we are at Pemberley.”
Elizabeth gave him an impudent look, but her joy could not be contained, and she smiled. “On one of your impertinent horses, no doubt!”
“No doubt,” Darcy agreed, returning her smile as he gently touched her cheek, then one long, curly lock. “Your hair has come down.”
“It always does. I am forever losing my hairpins. It is a wonder that I bother putting it up anymore whenever I ride!” She touched her hair self-consciously and glanced around the park. Her smile slipped from her face. “Forgive me. I must look a fright.”
“You are utterly charming,” he told her with a quiet reverence that immediately restored a fair measure of her self-confidence, “but I confess this is a look on you that I would prefer to keep for myself alone.”
She managed to find a few spare hairpins in a pocket and twisted her wild tresses into some semblance of respectability. When she had done, they continued through the park at a leisurely pace, their ride punctuated by private glances, easy smiles, and engaging but earnest conversation.
Hours passed as they trotted and cantered about the park, but the passage of time felt more like a handful of minutes to Elizabeth, who could not recall ever having enjoyed herself in the company of any gentleman so much as she had while touring the park with Darcy.
It was not only his solicitation for her comfort that delighted her, but the natural flow of their conversation, his wry sense of humour, the warm looks he continuously cast in her direction, and the ease and openness of his manner—even in such a public setting.
Darcy’s conduct made her feel loved and cherished in a way that no one—not even her parents or the Gardiners—had ever done.
Though she was loath to leave the happy bubble in which they had immersed themselves, when the sun had risen high enough to indicate the breakfast hour would soon be upon them and Darcy suggested they return to Park Street to break their fast, Elizabeth reluctantly agreed.
They had just passed through the Grosvenor Street gate and back onto Park Lane when Darcy said to her, “You have yet to answer my question.”
She regarded him with some degree of puzzlement. “For the life of me, I cannot think of what you mean. I have answered all your questions, sir, and with great energy and cleverness if I do say so myself!”
“All but one,” he replied with a cryptic turn of his lips. “You never told me where you learned to ride.”
Elizabeth turned her head aside to conceal her smile. “I learned to ride in Hertfordshire, of course.”
“What I meant, teasing woman, is who taught you?”
She laughed. “Forgive me. I could not resist. I learned to ride with Mr Ellis when we were children.”
“Mr Ellis?” he said with some surprise.
“Surely, you know enough of my father to comprehend that he approached my induction of the equestrian arts much as he approached the management of most everything concerning his daughters—by leaving it almost entirely to chance. Consigning my instruction to Mr Ellis’s father, the late Colonel Ellis, cost him very little inconvenience, though the benefit to me was invaluable. ”
Though he glanced at her with some measure of concern, Darcy ignored the flippant tone in which her speech was delivered. He said only, “Mr Ellis’s father is the one who taught you to ride astride, then.”
“Oh, no. Not the colonel. He was an ordered, sectarian man and quite adamant that young ladies should ride only as God intended them to ride—using a side-saddle. I remember watching my friend race across the park at Purvis Lodge with such speed and manoeuvrability while I struggled to keep my seat on such an awkward contraption. Keeping pace with him was impossible—I hated it. Eventually, I succeeded in my endeavours, but I still wished I could ride like my friend. One day, when we were very far from Meryton, Mr Ellis took pity on me. It was he who taught me to ride astride, in secret without his father’s knowledge or approbation. ”
“How old were you?”
“I was eleven.”
“And Mr Ellis?”
“Not yet fourteen.”
Darcy made no response.